“You certain of that one?” He stood as well, feeling uncomfortable with a lady on her feet while he lounged. “I’ve been with a few packs of lords who’ve spoken of much worse.”
“Quite certain.” She raised her chin. “While I’ve no doubt that others speak of appalling things, you simply do not have the leeway to do so. Everyone who hears you will shake their heads and quietly tell each other you’re no better than you ought to be. You will have to be a perfect example of propriety or you will fail. And it will not be my fault.”
With that queenly pronouncement, she swept from the room.
He squeezed the pulling tension at the back of his neck. He’d have a right bloody headache in no time if she stayed in the same house. One hand came to rest on the cloak she’d left draped over the end of the couch. He could almost fancy he still felt her body heat trapped in the thick folds.
The door clicked closed with a near silent pronouncement that somehow managed to sound as loud as church bells. Through that whole convoluted conversation he’d never once secured her agreement to leave. Hell, he’d hardly tried. Fletcher Thomas, feared by London’s underworld, had been turned about by a slip of a girl.
Or so it might have seemed at first. Really, she’d handed him the perfect opportunity. A few sweet words and by the time he had an income he could admit to, he’d already have Seraphina in hand. She’d be under his influence before she knew what had happened.
When he was ready to propose, she’d be more than willing to hear it. She’d be eager to gasp the word
yes.
Chapter Six
Though Sera chose the least offensive guest bedroom, her afternoon rest proved beyond reach. She lay on the bed for a full hour, staring up at the purple-and-gold-embroidered half canopy until she couldn’t stand it any longer. The lilac-striped wallpaper was simply jarring and the gold-thread coverlet scratched her cheek. The tassels on the pillows tickled the back of her neck until she sat up in frustration.
She tugged the bellpull immediately, though she wasn’t particularly hopeful on what sort of response she’d receive. Though Sera would ostensibly be old Mrs. Viers’s chaperone, she’d have to make sure that Fletcher told the rest of the household that she was to be listened to. By the time she left, she’d have turned the staff into such a tour de force that they would long to forget the bumbling mismanagement of her luggage in a haze of embarrassment.
Renewed by her purpose, she inspected the haphazard pile of trunks and bags in the corner of her room. Even this was more evidence of the shambled state of the staff. Upon delivering the bags, there should have been a quiet fleet of maids seeing to the distribution into wardrobes and chests. It wasn’t as if she collected all that many possessions. As the charity case of the school, keeping little baubles wasn’t easy. Things turned up inexplicably ruined.
Though she’d been afforded a respectable clothing allowance—the result of Fletcher’s generosity, she now realized—she’d chosen to spend it on a high quality wardrobe rather than pieces that were the utmost mode of fashion. Plenty of times she’d weighed a pretty fluff of lace against doubt the largess of her tenure would continue. Charity students always had to keep an eye on the future. While tasteful, the majority of her dresses were crafted from materials that verged on sturdy rather than pretty, with colors chosen for their long lives over their ability to complement her complexion.
It was lucky indeed that she looked well in gray. The silver cord she’d had added to the cuff and hems was better than nothing. Prettiness eased the vanity she couldn’t fully suppress.
She was also lucky her outfit was comprised of a separate jacket to be worn over her skirt, as no one had come to her call. Being the lowest girl in the academy had often meant waiting the longest for the assistance of one of the too-few maids. Sera had learned to fend for herself. It was either that or risk being late for meals, and Mrs. Waywroth had been distinctly intolerant of tardiness.
As was Sera.
She smoothed a stray wisp of hair into the knot at the back of her head and held it in position with a tortoiseshell hairpin. Her hat required more care to ensure it was cocked at the precise angle. Too deep and she looked like a jade. Too shallow and the hat’s jaunty feathers drooped abysmally.
She wove through the hallways and downstairs without seeing another living soul. True, in the best houses servants did their duties without being noticed, but this was beyond the pale. Even as Sera approached the front door, no one appeared to open it. A sneaking suspicion told her that she would find them all clustered around the servant’s table in the kitchen, chattering and giggling and having a grand old time. Undoubtedly discussing her. She didn’t begrudge servants their fun, but one must put duties before desires, or the whole world would crash down in anarchy.
“Running out already?” purred a silky voice. “With all your insistence on moving in, I’d have rather thought you’d last longer.”
She made a show of tugging on her delicate leather gloves, hopeful Fletcher wouldn’t know the way her heart had taken wing in her chest. “Fear not. I’m only leaving for a short while.”
He leaned against an open doorway through which she had yet to venture. The room behind him was a shadowy miasma that turned his golden hair even brighter by contrast. His arms were crossed over his broad chest. She’d seen many a young buck lounge in such a position, but most inspired amusement with their insipid posturing. Their narrow shoulders had curled in, making them look breakable. Not so Fletcher. He seemed larger though he took up less space on a physical plane.
It had to do with his aura of menace. That evening in the theater, she hadn’t doubted in the least that he was capable of intimidation. Hopefully she wouldn’t drive him to the point of a demonstration.
“I am relieved to hear that,” he said, but nothing lightened in his features.
He wasn’t beautiful, not by far. His face appeared to have been poked together by an untutored student rather than carved by an artist’s touch.
Yet she couldn’t seem to exorcise him from her mind’s eye. The entire hour Sera had lounged on the bed, he’d flirted around the edges of her thoughts.
She tugged at the wrist of her gloves, even though they were fully seated. Her knuckle brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, feeling the tiny throb. Despite that, she kept her voice smooth. A lady always maintained strong bulwarks against hysteria. “You certainly look as if a weight has been drawn from you.”
“Indeed. Inside, I am all lightness and joy.”
“In that case, I shall not fear leaving you to your own devices for the rest of the afternoon.”
He pushed away from the doorway, steps ringing out on the parquet. He stalked entirely too near for her tastes. She needed only to reach out a hand and she’d touch the smooth nap of his coat.
His voice was a rough purr. “Where are you off to?”
“Is that your business?”
His mouth tucked into that half smile. She wondered what it would feel like under her fingertips. “You’re an unattached female who’s been installed under my roof. As your employer, I do believe I have every right to know.”
She bit her lip. Accounting for her movements to such a man felt much different than telling schoolteachers or Mrs. Waywroth. Yet he was entirely right. “Miss Vale has a school designed to increase the wellbeing of factory girls. I teach etiquette there two times a week, Mondays and Wednesdays.”
“Perhaps you’re even more qualified to turn me into a man of quality than I’d thought.”
His very presence ignited her doubts. They stood in a large room, but it felt like the walls drew in with his sparked life. In her boots she was only a bare handful of inches shorter than him, but that didn’t matter. He loomed by existing.
“You’re welcome to accompany me,” she said, only for her eyes to immediately widen. She wasn’t sure at all where that had come from.
He couldn’t go. He’d be a wolf among the hens at the school. Two dozen factory girls, all hungry for a better life, attended her classes. One word of his underworld dealings and they’d think they’d found a better choice. One
look
at him and they’d be willing to audition with their skirts around their ears. He oozed the kind of raw masculinity they cooed and giggled over when they thought Sera wasn’t listening.
It was too late to rescind the invitation without appearing incredibly churlish. She resisted the urge to cross her fingers as she wished he’d decline.
His pale eyes lit with intrigue. “It would be my pleasure to see how you spend your leisure time.”
How he managed to infuse such innocent words with diabolical meaning was beyond her. The tips of her ears heated, though any libidinous intent was probably simply in her perception. He treated her with the utmost respectability and admiration. Only his rough manners led her to interpret anything else.
As they waited for the carriage, she watched him out of the corner of her eyes. His every movement was infused with a vitality she both envied and feared. He was so bold, so confident. She wondered what it would be like to move through life with such assurance. Even through her first decade she’d despaired of ever finding such calm. Her mother had consistently drummed into her head that she was of better lineage than those around them, leaving her constantly anxious. She hadn’t been permitted to run and play with the other street girls, as it would have been beneath her.
Much of her love for Digger had been predicated on his rough treatment. He’d taught her to trundle a hoop and she’d loved it. Skinning her knees had been the highlight of her month, since it meant she’d been out and playing and living.
The short carriage ride to the townhouse Lottie had rented passed in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Only when they pulled before the neatly maintained building did Fletcher speak.
“Planted the place rather near Globe Town’s factories, didn’t she? Is that the wisest choice? Factories aren’t located in the best neighborhoods.”
Sera made a show of gathering up her reticule and tugging her shawl more closely around her shoulders. “It only makes sense in terms of the girls’ schedules. They work long hours, and we shouldn’t like to cause them extra time out of their studies by forcing them into a long trek across town.”
The footman opened the door, and Fletcher leapt out without using the small step. He held out his hand to assist Sera.
She placed her fingers across his palm. Such a simple gesture and yet so much happened. Her heart did three spins and her mouth ran dry. Within their gloves, her fingertips tingled as they slid across his rough, wide hand. Dampness prickled behind her ears—and elsewhere.
Her gaze flew to his. She was certain he felt it too. His fingers folded around hers and held on noticeably longer than appropriate.
Jerking her gaze away from his magnetic blue eyes proved surprisingly difficult. She couldn’t depend on his overstepping social bounds to mean anything. Likely he didn’t know the import of his action. Her spine firmed before she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm for the walk up the front steps, ignoring the thumping of her pulse.
“What is the purpose of this…school, is it?” His voice rumbled over her skin like temptation given sound.
“There’s no official name, but we generally refer to it as a social club.” She scooped her skirts up with one hand. Even though hers weren’t near as constricted as some forward dressers, she still needed to be particularly careful when going up stairs. “As to the purpose…the betterment of the girls, of course.”
“Which is obtained by classes in etiquette?”
“Among other things, such as elocution lessons and improving the manner of their dress.”
He glanced down at her. “Miss Vale funds this all? That’s quite the investment.”
Sera turned her head toward the street as he struck the knocker. The houses along the way were mostly neat and tidy with only the slightest hint of disrepair in their flaking paint and spattered roofs. Nibbling on the tender inside of her lip sent a faint lance of pain through her. She didn’t much like explaining this part of their organization and hadn’t been forced to before. They didn’t broadcast their activities to the
ton
at large or risk being drummed out. But she didn’t think Fletcher would evince the same sort of disapproval.
He might look down on their endeavors, but not for the same reasons.
“The school is funded by a collective,” she said simply, trying to dodge the question.
“Other ladies of society?”
“Not precisely. By gentlemen.”
His eyes narrowed, and she felt the full force of his fury like a roiling wave. “Exactly what do these gentlemen obtain for their investment?”
The door swung open, pulled by Meredith, one of the girls who’d come from the cotton factory and stayed on as hired help. Sera smiled at the girl, who seemed a little bewildered as she looked from her to Fletcher. “Hello, miss,” she said.
“Hello, Meredith.” Sera swanned into the tiny foyer and down the confining hallway that led to the private rooms she and her friends kept.
Naturally, Fletcher didn’t let her get far. He stalked after her like a lion on the hunt, all angry intent. The skin along the back of her neck prickled under his scrutiny. Within her corset, her insides fluttered.
Though Sera hoped Lottie would have already arrived, no one waited in the small parlor at the back of the house. The fire had been lit in the cozy room, and gaslight sconces suffused it with a warm glow. Even at Waywroth Academy there was the risk of Mrs. Waywroth’s disapproval, plus Sera dealt with the snubbing disapproval of most of the other students. Not here. Here, they ruled the roost like nowhere else in their lives. Sera had come to think of this place as a secret getaway where they could all be themselves, away from the prying eyes of the
ton
.