“Tomorrow I’ll take you to a seamstress to have some frocks made for you.”
“That’s very generous of you, but not necessary.”
“You have the gray, a blue”—that she’d worn the second night he’d seen her at the pub—“the green. Have you anything else?”
A flannel nightdress and undergarments, although she didn’t think he really had any interest in those items. She didn’t want to acknowledge how worn the gray and the blue were becoming. “I find them to be sufficient.”
“You just successfully argued that a person’s clothing should reflect who they are and what they want from life. Shouldn’t the same apply to you? Shouldn’t you have clothing worthy of a seductress?”
With her own words, he’d trapped her into doing what he wanted. It annoyed her that he should be so clever.
She looked toward the fire, remembering a time when she would have stalked from the room in a fit of temper, would have rained down oaths, would have seen servants sacked, for an irritation much less potent than the anger roiling throughher for having fallen into his snare. But that was back when she had options, relied on no one’s mercy, because her father had wielded such power that the tentacles of it reached out and cradled her, so she mirrored that power. But she no longer had the luxury of showing her annoyance, or the authority to insist those surrounding her work diligently to make matters right. As a mistress, her future would be determined by the whims of a man and her ability not to show her upset with him. She feared she wouldn’t be up to the task, that she didn’t possess the acting skills necessary to disguise her displeasure.
She turned her attention back to him. “You’re quite right. I thank you for your kind consideration. A trip to the dressmaker would be welcome.”
If he gloated with his success, she would call it a night. Only he didn’t. He simply continued to study her.
“I forgot to mention, and I don’t know if you discerned it this afternoon, but all the ladies read. If there are any books that would help you in achieving your goal, give me the titles and I’ll see them delivered here.”
“I’m surprised. I would have thought not knowing one’s letters would have been a factor in leading them to this occupation.”
“Women turn to this life for all sorts of reasons. Some have the ability to read, some don’t. My sister Fancy offers free reading lessons for adults a couple of nights a week. I took the ones who couldn’t read to her classes so at least they’d have that advantage.”
She recalled that the youngest Trewlove had recently married the Earl of Rosemont. For a while Althea had been obsessed, striving to keep up with the happenings within the aristocracy, each marriage, birth, and scandal bringing home how much she was no longer a part of it all. But finding gossip sheets lying about was always a challenge. She no longer had any friends willing to gossip with her.
She’d once hoarded the most inconsequential of rumors, the ones that didn’t make it into the gossip rags, as though they were the rarest of sweets to be savored. But then she’d lost her taste for them after her family had dominated everyone’s tongue in a most unflattering and unsavory manner.
“You’re very keen to see women educated.”
“My mum believed knowledge was key to achieving a better life. She insisted we attend the ragged schools, wouldn’t allow us to miss a single day. When we all began working, we pooled our coins to purchase a yearly subscription to a lending library. It only allowed us to borrow one book at a time, so we rotated who had the honor of selecting the book. Even if we weren’t interested in the one chosen, we had to read it so we could gather to discuss it. I suspect some are surprised by how much we know, how much we comprehend, how easily we can carry on a conversation regarding the most complicated of topics. How we can back up our stances and arguments with facts. As a result, Iamkeen to see women educated. They should have as much opportunity as men to better their lives. I’ve never understood a man wanting a wife with whom he couldn’t have a rousing debate.”
“As I won’t be anyone’s wife, I won’t be debating. I imagine my paramour will be of the mind that I should be seen and not heard.”
“More fool he. A woman’s words can seduce me more effectively than the sway of her hips.”
She couldn’t deny thathiswords were more seductive than the breadth of his shoulders. Not that she wouldn’t mind skimming her fingers over those shoulders.
“Are there particular words you find more seductive than others?” she asked.
He took a sip of his scotch, and she wanted to gather from his lips whatever dampness remained. Chadbourne’s lipshad been thin, the upper one barely visible, but Benedict’s mouth was like the rest of him—broad, full, and tempting.
“Honest ones, perhaps even painful ones,” he finally answered. “I recall reading about your father in minute detail, all he endured as a traitor to the Crown, but nothing about you. Yesterday you told me that I knew the truth of you. Only I don’t. Tell me the truth of you.”
She gave her attention back to the fire. “I was so enjoying our conversation.”
He drew back his legs, leaned forward, placed his elbows on his thighs, and cradled his glass in both hands as though it was a tiny bird in need of protection. “Althea, I’ve shared a good bit of my life with you—personal bits, successful bits. I told you the truth of Sally, my role in her death, the guilt I feel because of it. You comforted me and now that secret is no longer between us. Why do you hide so much of yourself from me?”
“There’s shame in my past.”
“Do you think being born a bastard, that I know naught of shame? That I would ridicule you for hardships suffered or judge you for circumstances over which you had no control?”
“I told you I don’t know the details.”
“I don’t want the details of him. I want the details of you.”
If he hadn’t gone so quiet, so still, merely waiting for her to come around, to confess all, she might have been able to ignore him. But she’d never been able to speak of the matter with anyone, to unburden herself. Her family had suffered as well, but by tacit agreement, they’d all refused to hash out the matter, to give voice to their feelings of betrayal. It seemed to express any of it aloud would serve to make matters worse. So they’d all pretended it hadn’t happened as it had. They’d simply woken up one morning to find themselves commoners and paupered.
It might have been easier if she’d kept her gaze on the blue, red, and orange flames dancing wildly on the hearth, but for some reason she sought out the dark depths of his eyes, the square cut of his jaw, the sharp, knife-like edge of his nose, the high bones of his cheeks, all the contours of his face that had become so achingly familiar she could have drawn him from memory. The intensity with which he studied her as though he truly cared about the answer frightened her as much as it comforted her. Scared her because she shouldn’t long for his attentions, cherish his presence. He was a temporary part of her life, as so many had been. She had learned through heartbreak and disappointment that devotion could be snuffed out with a mere word or gesture.
