Page 13 of My Lord, Lady, and Gentleman

“If you stayed, we could have all three,” said Susanna hesitantly.

If you stayed.

Clayton stilled as a yearning surged through him, even more powerful than his climax. Of course she didn’t mean forever, but he couldn’t help creating the fantasy in his mind. No more lackluster weeks of lonely nights interspersed with meaningless affairs. Forever would mean this bright, airy room to paint in, and create whatever art they liked. Shared meals and conversation as they told him about their day’s successes and annoyances. Words of love and affection from them both.

Indeed, he wanted it all.

But an affair was one thing. Living as a trio under one roof was something else entirely. They would need to be discreet; while the late Duke of Devonshire had lived with both his duchess Georgiana and lover Lady Elizabeth Foster, he didn’t think they had been a ménage. And two men rather than two women was a significant difference. Far more likely, once the painting was completed, he would have to return to Guildford. Even with his lovely purse of guineas it would still be a grim reality, and once again, his only joy being the Society meetings.

So, for now, he had to decide whether it was better to gorge himself with their company and collect blissful memories, or somehow protect his heart by staying away.

Ha. It wasn’t even a decision. When had he ever been prudent?

Pressing a kiss to Susanna’s bare shoulder, while stealing a lingering glance at Joseph’s rapidly recovering cock, Clayton took a deep breath and pasted a smile on his face.

“A buffet of dessert and fucking sounds entirely too decadent, madam. So I’ll reply an emphatic yes.”

He could worry about his heart later.

* * *

The Theater Royal in Drury Lane was one of her favorite places in London. But tonight’s visit to watch the great Edmund Kean himself was even more special, for it wasn’t just Joseph that accompanied her, but Clayton as well.

Susanna paused on the staircase and allowed herself a moment to take in the elegant, spacious splendor. Impossibly high carved ceiling, an enormous stage, orchestra pit, and four levels of generous-sized boxes arranged in a semi-circle, so all had an excellent view. Each box was separated by a stone column, and from each column hung a small chandelier, ensuring the place was remarkably well lit. The less expensive seats were directly in front of the stage, and even now she could hear the raucous sounds of hundreds of men and women talking and laughing as they waited for the play to begin.

Joseph patted her gloved hand where it rested on his sleeve. “Quite a place, isn’t it?”

She grinned. “Not bad, I suppose.”

Clayton burst out laughing beside her. “So hard to please, madam! I must say, they did a fine job with the fourth rebuild back in 1812. Imagine losing a theater not once but twice to fire. Management must reach for their hartshorn every time someone lights a lantern. Where are we sitting?”

Closing her eyes briefly, Susanna forced her free hand to remain at her side and not reach up to curl around Clayton’s arm so all three of them were linked as they walked. Just because they had the most heavenly bond in the temporary painting studio, had enjoyed several meals together in the past week, and Clayton had accepted an invitation entirely unrelated to his commission, didn’t necessarily mean he wanted a shared future. She had to remember that. And accept it. No matter how much her heart broke at the thought.

No matter how shockingly natural it felt to be part of a trio rather than a couple.

“Our hired box is on the third floor,” she replied.

“We should probably take our seats,” said Joseph, and they continued up the wide staircase to the private box. It was about three-quarters of the way along the hallway, and the entrance was blocked by a heavy crimson velvet curtain. Her husband held it to one side to allow her and Clayton to pass through, then he followed them inside.

“Lady Fenton! Oh, what a treat to see you here. Come and tell me everything!”

Susanna groaned inwardly at the sight of the statuesque Countess Onslow in the box next to theirs. The lady was a fellow member of the hospital fundraising committee but had yet to contribute a single guinea to the cause. She much preferred to gossip, and was probably responsible for at least ninety percent of London’s inaccurate information flow.

“Good evening, Lady Onslow,” she replied, reluctantly moving to the side of the box so they could speak over the partition.

“Hello, dear, looking divine as usual. Is that Irish lace on your gown? Oh, I must have some. The conversation behind me is ever so dull, do distract me. Onslow is talking about tenant troubles or some such ghastly thing. The low born are always complaining. Not nearly enough gratitude toward their betters.”

“I am low born,” said Susanna, resisting the urge to strangle the woman with her diamond necklace.

The countess guffawed. “Don’t be silly! You have all that lovely money. And Prinny fixed your common past with a title, so you are one of us now. How is Lord Fenton? And…my word, is that Clayton Irving? I didn’t realize you were acquainted with him. Far too bold for my taste, and estranged from his family, you know. It must be his fault, for Lord and Lady Irving are just well-bred perfection. As are his two older brothers.”

Fury surged at the trite, ridiculous words. It was something Susanna would never understand or accept about most ton women, the insistence that bloodlines and titles meant more than hard work and compassion for others. As for Lady Onslow’s opinion of Clayton, well, she could go roll in manure. The Irving family could also, if they didn’t love their youngest son. A person would have to be a complete twit to not see how wonderful he was.

Susanna tilted her head. “I must respectfully disagree. Mr. Irving is a special friend, and I quite adore his company. He is extraordinarily talented, amusing, generous and handsome. Do you know he is painting my portrait? Everyone will want one soon, and his work will be worth an absolute fortune. I said to Fenton it must be done now, and my dear husband indulged my whim. He is also an ardent admirer.”

Lady Onslow swayed on her feet. “An immoral portrait? Special friends, you say?”

Recklessly, she winked. “Not a stitch of clothing. And yes. Very special.”