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Luxury seemed even more tempting when a tap on the door brought not just the maid with the tea tray, but footmen with hot-water pails. ‘Andrewes thought you looked a bit chilled, miss,’ Miriam said, shaking out Nell’s coat while the sound of water being emptied into the tub came from the dressing room. ‘Shall we wash your hair? Lady Verity’s given me a bottle of her camomile hair lotion for you.’
‘Oh yes, why not?’ Nell drank her tea and contemplated the soft towels, the rose-scented soap, the fire in the dressing room. Sinless indulgencies for a guest. But, when she went home, the only way she could enjoy them was by committing the gravest sin for a lady: the sacrifice of her already tarnished honour.
Nell put down her cup and stood up, wondering if to choose the life of a courtesan would be to take power or to lose it utterly.
Sliding into the warm embrace of the tub did nothing to banish the memories of how pleasurable some of the duties of a mistress might be. Idly Nell soaped her arms, squeezed the big sponge so that water flowed over her breasts, felt again Marcus’s lips on her heated skin.
But she had fallen in love with him, maddening, suspicious man that he was. Was that why his love-making stirred her so? Could she give herself to another man, feeling like this? No, of course she couldn’t. She would be disgusted at herself. It was Marcus’s caresses she wanted and only his. She should be grateful that his scruples stopped him before they had done anything irrevocable. Which meant returning to a life of respectable, humble drudgery and the sooner she resigned herself to it, the better.
The gloom that these thoughts provoked half-tempted Nell into taking her drab gown from the clothes press and bundling her hair into a net. Stubborn self-respect made her submit to Miriam’s best efforts with her hair, to the pot of flower-scented hand cream and the suggestion that she wear the prettiest of the afternoon gowns Honoria had lent her.
The effect, as she caught a glimpse of herself in the long glass in the hallway, was a shock. Her eyes were wide, intense. Her hair gleamed, there was colour in her cheeks, her skin was creamy above the elegantly modest neckline and her lips—her lips were curved into a provocative pout. Startled, Nell tightened them, to no avail. It must have been Marcus’s kisses, she thought, wondering if she appeared to others quite as comprehensively abandoned as she felt.
The hall had been cleared of Lieutenant Carlow’s baggage, but voices and laughter were still coming from the drawing room. Nell opened the door and hesitated, uncertain whether she should be intruding. But it was well past the usual hour for luncheon.
‘Nell!’ Verity, of course, was the first on her feet, bubbling with excitement. ‘Come and meet Hal. Hal, this is Miss Latham.’
The man who rose from amidst the group beside the fire was unmistakeably a Carlow, favouring Honoria rather than Verity in his looks. As tall as Marcus, but of a lighter, rangier build, his hair was more of a golden brown, his eyes blue-grey, his tanned face devoid of any hint of his older brother’s familiar frown.
‘Miss Latham.’ He came towards her, hand held out, a smile on his lips that made her feel that there was no one else in the room. ‘I understand I am to thank you for rescuing Marcus.’
‘Lord Stanegate was in no need of rescue, I assure you, Lieutenant Carlow,’ Nell protested, taking the long-fingered hand that seemed reluctant to let hers go. ‘He dealt with the situation most masterfully.’
‘That I can believe.’ The way his smile warmed his eyes sent a tingle right down to Nell’s toes. My goodness, he must have to beat the ladies off with sticks! she thought, startled by her own reaction. If I wasn’t in love with his brother I would be a puddle at his feet.
‘Come and sit by the fire, Miss Latham.’
‘I think it is time we all went in to luncheon,’ Lady Narborough said, getting to her feet and smiling at her son. ‘Miss Latham, you must be wondering if we were ever going to eat. I should have had the gong sounded half a hour since, but we were all so delighted to see Hal,’ she explained, leading the way to the door. ‘He has been giving us considerable anxiety.’
‘You have been wounded, I believe?’ Now that she had recovered from the impact of those smiling eyes, she could see that he was carrying little surplus weight and the skin under his eyes was shadowed as though by sleeplessness or pain.
‘A ridiculous scratch from a sabre that provoked a fever I couldn’t shake off. My commanding officer took exception to the fact that I kept falling flat on my face and ordered me to bed, then, once I got to my feet again he packed me off home. My regiment is here. I expect I will join it again in a week or two.’
‘You must be very happy to have him with you, Lady Narborough,’ Nell observed.
‘I am delighted to have both my sons at home,’ the countess said, taking her seat and gesturing Hal to sit beside her. ‘I have to confess that I wish they were both not in such a battered condition.’
‘They are both on the mend, my dear,’ the earl observed from the other end of the table.
‘Hmm.’ Lady Narborough looked doubtful. ‘They say they are.’
There certainly appeared to be nothing wrong with Lieutenant Carlow’s appetite nor his ability to hold his own in conversation. He soothed his mother, passed on all the military gossip to his father, teased his sisters affectionately and still managed to give Nell the flattering impression that he could hardly keep his eyes off her.
It was all flummery, of course. She was under no misapprehension about him. She was the only female at the table to whom he was not related and Hal Carlow was a rake who flirted as easily as he breathed.
Nell had never been flirted with before. It was, she concluded, a most stimulating experience, even when one had a bruised heart. Or perhaps especially because of those bruises. A glance in the mirror reassured her. Yes, she was still looking remarkably fine. Experimentally she lowered her lashes and shot Mr Carlow a sideways glance. His lips curved appreciatively.
‘We must invite some people over, Mama,’ he observed. ‘Get up a party. Dance a little. I am sure Miss Latham would like to dance, would you not?’
‘I do not dance, Lieutenant Carlow.’
‘On principle? Never tell me you are a secret Quakeress.’ His gaze seemed to linger on her mouth.
‘Because of lack of ability, sir. I am sure Lady Narborough has explained, I am not in Society.’
‘But I could teach you.’ The polite offer held suggestions of many things that Hal Carlow would like to instruct her in.
‘Thank you, Mr Carlow, but I think it better not,’ she said demurely, realising a moment later that he had simply taken that as a challenge. The blue-grey eyes laughed at her as she felt her cheeks warm.
