David Lord of Honor (The Lonely Lords) (9 page)

He held out a hand to her, and Letty found herself taking it.

“You like to hold hands,” she observed as he once again led her through the kitchens and up toward the front of the house. He’d pretty much dragged her by the wrist through the whole building on her last visit. She’d enjoyed the simple contact, enjoyed that at no time had Fairly intimated that he’d wanted to put the premises to their commercial use with Letty.

Heaven defend her, on some level she felt safe with this man.

“I like to hold hands with you,” he replied, smiling over his shoulder. “In part, I like to see you get that puzzled, bothered look you’re wearing now.”

Letty couldn’t help but smile at him, a smile that appreciated the impossibility of such a big, elegant man indulging in impishness. He stopped in the middle of a deserted hallway, his hand still in hers.

“She smiles,” he said as if to himself. “She truly, truly smiles.”

He smiled too, not the dazzling, exuberant smile, something far more personal and equally devastating.

“What’s the other part, your lordship?”

“Beg pardon?”

“What’s the other part? You said you hold hands with me in part to see me get that puzzled, bothered look. What’s the other part?”

“The other part, Letty-love, is that I want you accustomed to my touch.”

Years ago, she might have chided him for his impertinence—she was not his Letty-love—except he was her employer, and given the venue, endearments and hand-holding were more civilities than offenses.

Then too, nobody had ever called her Letty-love, much less in such wistful tones, and she rather liked holding his hand too.

“Why should you want me accustomed to your touch?” she asked, glancing down at their laced fingers.

His smile faded, which was fortunate for a lady’s composure. “Once we walk through that door, I want it understood by all that you are under my protection, and rather than hanging a sign around your neck, or calling out the first fellow to trespass, I will instead touch you. For the display to be convincing, you should look as if you’re enjoying my attentions, hmm?”

He was logical. How did a logical man go about his seductions, and what was wrong with her, that she liked the notion he’d defend her honor if a patron of the establishment took uninvited liberties with her person?

“You want me to hang all over you?”

“Must you sound so appalled?” His smile was back: lovely, warm, and genuinely amused at her. “Nothing so vulgar as that, but let’s practice a bit, shall we?”

She had no warning, not even a moment to prepare herself, before he stepped in closer and grazed his nose along her cheekbone. He stood, his head bent to her cheek, holding her hand and giving Letty a moment to wish they’d met under any other circumstances.

A courtesan, a whore, would pretend she enjoyed such attentions. How much worse was it that Letty enjoyed them in truth? Enjoyed his lordship’s scent, his strength, his sense of energy and competence, and most of all, his sense of self-restraint.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I’ll behave, Letty-love, but you have to meet me halfway.”

If she permitted him these liberties, she would be safe from the pawing and pinching of other men. And from him, affection would mean nothing, merely a courtesy extended her to allow her bodily privacy from other customers.

And yet, her heart sped up, and not with dread.

He’d introduced his staff to her with punctilious courtesy. He’d had cards printed for her that she’d never use. He’d given thought to how to safeguard Letty from uninvited advances, and he wanted to know she had people to worry for her, should illness strike.

Any woman would be attracted to Lord Fairly’s charm, his good looks, his élan.

As Letty stood close enough to him that his breath fanned over her cheek, she forgave herself for the frisson of arousal his proximity caused. What alarmed her was that she respected this man, and—truly, she must master this lapse—she liked him, too.

“I’m about to kiss you, Letty,” he whispered. “You will allow it?”

Her liking rose toward something more dangerous yet, because when—
when
—had any man ever asked for her permission before he kissed her?

She nodded but couldn’t bring herself to turn her face up to his. She wasn’t expecting it when his lips feathered against her brow, then her cheek, then the side of her neck. He nuzzled and sighed and took his time, following the contours of her face with his lips and his nose and his breath.

Just as the disappointing thought formed—
So, he isn’t going to kiss my mouth.
—Fairly’s lips settled gossamer light on hers, as if he rested his mouth on hers, waiting for her to take the initiative. When she didn’t pull away or poker up—the two options she could have envisioned pursuing—the tip of Fairly’s tongue teased along her lips. He’d used a soft, warm, flirting touch, playful and knowing. Letty opened her mouth to ask him what he was
doing
, but found to her shock his tongue insinuated itself
into
her mouth.

Heaven
defend
her.
Her employer took lazy, decadent liberties with his tongue. He tasted; he explored; he seemed to grow taller as Letty clung to him. Her head was thrown back, their mouths fused, and her arms had somehow—she honestly knew not how—wound themselves around his neck, her fingers linked under the queue of blond hair gathered at his nape.

He eased away from the kiss, keeping his arms around her. Her wobbly knees appreciated that consideration, even as the rest of her wanted to step back, smooth down her skirts, and coolly precede his lordship into the front parlors—provided she could find them.

Who was she, that she’d thrust her tongue into a man’s mouth? That she’d cling to him so shamelessly? That she’d
want
him to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her, endlessly?

And why had Herbert never kissed her thus? Why had he never held her hand?

“On second thought,” Fairly said, his forehead resting against hers, “a sign hung ’round your neck might be the safer option all around. You practice very convincingly, Letty Banks.”

A real courtesan, a woman who understood the profession and accepted it for what it was, would have had something clever to say. Letty was not such a woman, and hoped she never would be. “I thought we were kissing.”

“My mistake, for we surely were kissing after all.” He bussed her nose, took half a pace back, and reached for her hand. Letty was glad he did, for she still needed some kind of support if she was to remain upright and yet move.

“Ready to face the lions?” he asked, opening the door and tucking her hand around his elbow.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Which was to say, not ready at all.

Four

“If it warms up, we’ll get another damned snowstorm,” David observed, poking at the logs in his madam’s sitting-room fireplace. Logs were an extravagance he hoped she would not scold him for, though Jennings certainly had. “Do you prefer brandy, or perhaps a cordial?”

Because after hours of trying to remain close to Letty without hovering, of touching her hand, her hair, her
anything
with an appearance of casual affection, he needed a drink.

“May I please have a hot chocolate?”

So polite, in this most impolite of venues. “Of course you may.” David opened the door and gave their request to the footman at the end of the corridor. “You may swill hot chocolate the whole night through if it’s what you prefer. You mustn’t spare the small indulgences, Letty. The nights are too long and the pleasures too few.”

Sometime in the course of the evening, he’d gained the privilege of calling her Letty, though she did not call him David.

“What you require of me isn’t that difficult,” she replied, closing her eyes and resting her head against the back of the couch. “One smiles, greets, chats, and moves on to the next for more of same. One mustn’t flirt too hard or give offense to any party, or be overly boisterous or overly withdrawn. One mustn’t imbibe to excess or comment uncharitably on the social habits of others. Rather like a village assembly.”

Not a comparison David would have ever thought to make. “You sound like you’re reciting a catechism.” And like she’d been to many, many village assemblies.

“I nearly am, the point being that superficial social interaction isn’t that demanding when one has been trained to manage it. The gathering does take on a different air when couples are disappearing up the steps from time to time and grinning fellows are coming down.”

“Noticed that, did you?” And she’d tried not to be obvious about her noticing too, while David had tried not to obviously watch her.

Perhaps he’d have two drinks. He took a place beside her, got his cravat off without swearing audibly, and began to wrench at a boot.

“You are disrobing.”

“Partially,” David said through gritted teeth. “You are welcome to do likewise.”

“Would you like some help with that boot?” she asked, pushing to her feet.

He stuck his boot out, the same as he would have were she his valet or his… wife, while wondering whose boots she’d tugged off in the past.

“Do not,” she warned, “think of putting your foot on my person, sir. Or any other part of you on any other part of me.”

“Duly warned.” Did her defenses never waver? He rather hoped, for her sake, they did not.

Letty stepped over his shin and presented him with the fetching prospect of her derriere at eye level. With a strong tug, she had his boot off, dropped his foot, and stepped back to allow him to raise the other leg.

When the second boot was off, she held up both. “Where do you want these?”

“Outside the door. The bootboy will see to them while we have our nightcap.”

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of their drinks, and David took the boots from her, putting them in the corridor before he took the tray proffered by the waiting footman.

“Your chocolate, madam.” He bowed before Letty where she’d once again ensconced herself on the couch, then grabbed a pillow, slapped it down on the hearth, and lowered himself onto it.

Lest some part of him be tempted to touch some part of her.

He took a sip. “Chocolate is a good idea, but it needs something.” He went to the sideboard, where he searched out a brown bottle with a label in Italian, and sloshed a goodly portion from the bottle into his hot chocolate.

“Try mine,” he suggested. “If you like it, we’ll doctor yours as well.”

She reached for the bottle and sniffed. “Nuts?”

“Hazelnut liqueur. I came across it in Italy.” He held out his drink, and she brought it to her lips. Perhaps she thought he’d surrender it into her keeping, but instead—because he was a tired fool suffering an inconvenient attack of adolescence—kept his hand wrapped around the glass, so she had to wrap her fingers over his.

He was offering spirits to a lady in a bordello after midnight, and feeling both naughty and hopeful about the prospects.

Pathetic—or, perhaps, sweet. David held up the bottle. “Shall you?”

“A bit. I’m not used to spirits.”

She attended rural assemblies, wasn’t used to spirits, and kissed with all the wonderment and innocence of a new bride. David poured a sparing amount into her drink, though it was tempting to get her tipsy and himself drunk.

“So you’re just going to sit there,” David asked from his perch on the hearth, “all dressed?”

“Why would I remove clothing in your presence?” Letty replied, taking another sip of her drink.

She was baiting him—he was almost sure of it. “Because it’s more comfortable and leaves less to do when one eventually succumbs to the arms of Morpheus? You are staying here tonight, I hope?”

“I could.” Euridyce had taken lodgings in the underworld with more enthusiasm.

“Until the weather improves, I wish you would. The only people abroad at this hour of the night when it’s this cold are up to no good. And we’ve an appointment with Madame Baptiste in the morning anyway. Would you like more hot chocolate?”

“I taste spices in this too—nutmeg, maybe, or cinnamon. I’m probably going to fall asleep halfway through if I have another. The longer I sit here, the heavier my eyes get.”

David gathered up their empty glasses a few moments later and used the bellpull, but didn’t immediately sit back down on the hearth. Instead, he paused to shed his cuff links and turn up his cuffs. The room was cozy, and Letty ought not to have an apoplexy at the sight of his forearms.

“I’m taking your shoes off, Letty Banks, and you will permit this, seeing as you did, after all, wrest mine from me.”

“I asked, your lordship, I didn’t order,” she said peevishly, but she made no protest as David eased her half boots off. Emboldened by her passivity, he slid his hands up her calf to untie the garter of each stocking.

“You are taking liberties.” She sounded unsure, and not pleased.

“Your feet are safe with me, Letty. You can hiss and arch your back all you want, but you were on your feet for hours. Those boots of yours are an abomination against nature and fashion both, and I am going to ease your discomfort.”

While increasing his own. He took her foot in his hands, and as the medical part of his brain noted a high arch and a second toe longer than her great toe—there was a name for this condition—the masculine part of him rejoiced to hold even this most humble part of her.