Emily Baker (4 page)

She couldn’t move from her place in front of him. He remained much too close. His eyes smoldered as they looked into hers. For the barest moment, she drew in his scent again as her senses reeled.

“Fast, but steady.” His voice spiraled heat through her middle. He nodded, then squeezed her hands gently and continued to hold them, lightly, softly, as though he knew he shouldn’t retain the contact but couldn’t quite give it up. “Very good.”

“Yes.” She couldn’t have named what she was agreeing to.

“Missus?” Young and inexperienced, Teresa was still hovering near the door where she’d been stationed to take Gerald’s place as the footman served her guests.

The realization of her maid’s presence helped bring Maura out of the intoxicating trance she seemed to have fallen into just as Garrett Lynch finally released his hold of her hands.

“Yes, Teresa.” She smiled and peeked around their guest’s massive shoulder to set the nervous maid at ease. “Please check with Mrs. Kelly and Cook about the preparations for supper. I believe we are shy but one of our company at this point.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Teresa bobbed a quick curtsey while managing an appreciative sideways glance at their new guest one last time before scurrying down the hallway. The admiration shining in the girl’s face only confirmed Mrs. Kelly’s policy regarding the female help and limiting their contact with the men entertained on nights such as these.

Maura couldn’t really blame the girl, despite the fact that her last glance had been outside the boundaries. Garrett Lynch was a riveting sight. And now she was alone in the hallway with him. If only Mrs. Kelly’s dictates could extend to her mistress as well. However, this was her home to order. Her life. She straightened her spine and favored him with her best smile. “Mr. Lynch, please come with me.”

“My pleasure.” The words were said very softly, respectfully. Either he didn’t know the true nature of her liaison with Freddie or he didn’t care. The thought struck home deep inside her, warm and comforting like an unexpected caress. For the second time this evening she was considering her position in society. This was much more pleasant than the last, but the realization disconcerted her just the same.

She slid the pocket doors open once more.

Percy slapped his knee as tears poured down his face. Freddie was squinting and laughing almost as hard. Jameson, as before, appeared bored and totally unaffected by either the jest he had just delivered or the humor enjoyed by his audience. Even the men clustered on the other side of the room stared. The sight disturbed her almost as much as Jameson’s too-intimate perusal of her body.

It took several seconds, but the small cluster looked toward the doorway at last. That Jameson noticed first, then said nothing, failed to surprise her. She definitely didn’t care for this man.

She favored Freddie with a broad smile. “My lord, Mr. Garrett Lynch has arrived.”

She stepped aside to allow the tall, unsettlingly handsome man behind her to enter the room.

“Baron Stanhope, a true pleasure.” Garrett bowed with an elegant bent knee in his doeskin pantaloons. “Lord Longford sends his regards. He is but a few minutes behind me.”

He straightened. Still very tall, still darkly handsome with startling green eyes, but somehow not the same man who had held her so intimately and seemed to touch her soul with the simple brush of his fingers.

His gaze swept hers ever so briefly. Humor twinkled in the depths as though he shared some private jest.

“Ah, Lynch.” This first greeting from Jameson. “It will be a pleasure to best you at faro again this evening.”

“The pleasure will be all mine, Jameson.” Mr. Lynch answered enigmatically. Apparently the two were already known to one another.

“Longford speaks very highly of you, Lynch. And your reputation as a gamester precedes you.” Freddie stepped forward with his hand extended. “I hope you will find your evening enjoyable.”

“Garrett Lynch.” Percy pushed to his feet and wiped away the telltale tears as Freddie shook Garrett Lynch’s hand. “I’ve seen you play. You are the very devil of a card player. When Stanhope here mentioned you might be joining us, I very nearly changed my mind about participating. But who could resist the opportunity to see two such elbow shakers at work? Jameson here is acquitted as being a knight of the elbow himself don’t you know.”

Percy bowed politely enough to take any sting out of his words. Jameson, on the other hand, offered what could only be described as a smirk.

“Percival Masters.” Freddie offered the late introduction.

“A pleasure, indeed, Masters. I’m sure we both look forward to our play later, if only so you can judge for yourself if either of us deserves such high-flying praise.” Garrett Lynch offered a wry smile and a slight bow of his head.

“Do sit gentleman while we await Longford’s arrival.” Freddie invited. “There will be time enough for banter once we lay out our cards.”

“Can my footman offer you some refreshment, Mr. Lynch?” Maura asked as the other men returned to their seats and the conversation from across the room swelled once more.

“Nothing for me at the moment, thank you. It promises to be a long night and I’d like to keep a clear head while I get acquainted with the company.”

His refusal surprised her. Sobriety was hardly the order of the day at events such as this. But what disturbed her was the curious flip her stomach performed when he turned his attention to her as he answered.

The pocket doors slid open, and Teresa nodded to her. Their last guest had arrived and supper was about to be served. Good. The sooner this night was over, the better.

“This way, gentleman.” Maura rang a small bell from the table behind her. She indicated the foyer. “It is time you share a light repast and then begin your evening’s entertainment. I believe I will leave you to both so you may converse and enjoy yourselves more freely.”

Freddie guided the other gentlemen out of the drawing room and called a greeting to Lord Longford in the foyer, where Gerald awaited the guests to usher them toward the dining salon. Most of the gentlemen took the opportunity to thank her for her hospitality as they exited. Jameson actually made an attempt to follow Percy’s example and kiss her hand, then had the audacity to chuckle when she pretended not to understand his gesture and reached behind her to return the bell to its resting place. The thought of him touching her was too much, and he seemed to realize it.

Garrett Lynch on the other hand almost seemed to put on a mask and fade into the woodwork. One minute he’d been there, and the next he’d slipped out with the rest of the company.

Freddie paused at the doorway and slid his fingers between hers, linking their hands. “I’m sorry if you were overset earlier. Jameson’s story really was too ribald for such delicate ears. I’m glad he thought to treat you with such respect, even if he phrased it badly.”

He leaned down to brush his lips against hers. Sweet, thoughtful Freddie. Respect was the last thing on Harold Jameson’s mind when it came to her. That much was clear to her, at least.

“I have a gift for you.” He slid his hand into his pocket and drew out a small box. “Because I missed you and in gratitude for this night.”

“There is no need . . . ”

“A present is not given out of necessity, Maura.” He interrupted. “Open it and tell me if they please you.”

She took the box from him and found two perfectly matched, diamond drop earrings inside.

“Oh Freddie,” was all she could manage. They were beautiful indeed, but it was at times like this she felt most like the scandalous member of the demimonde she had allowed herself to become. The shame of her fallen status always stung.

Her first instinct to tears was not the reaction he was looking for however, and she leaned into him and let him kiss her slowly. She would indeed miss him when she let him go. But he already cared for her much too deeply. The tender passion of his mouth on hers and the expense of this gift proved that much. His recognition that Jameson’s shabby treatment had been awkward for her touched her more deeply than his gift.

The dangers of letting him stay with her too much longer were clear. Time might let him fully convince himself he loved her as much as he thought he did. Time might let her believe his love would be enough to sustain them both. Neither was true.

“I wish you could join us.” His breath caressed her cheek. His hands on her arms as he held her close failed to produce the cascade of sensations she’d experience when Garrett Lynch had steadied her earlier.

“I’ll be within easy reach,” she promised him. “I’ll be in my private salon while you enjoy your cards with your guests.”

“And perhaps when they have departed you will show me how those earbobs look on you. I bought them because they reminded me of the stars in your eyes.”

“Perhaps.” Part of her melted, despite the odd hurt his gift had engendered. He hadn’t meant to remind her of her status as his mistress. He’d been trying to pay her a compliment.

“Good. It will be too long of an evening without you.” He kissed her again and sighed, releasing her with clear reluctance. “Why did you let me plan this evening so soon after my return to the city? We could be spending the time together engaged in much more pleasurable pursuits.”

“Why? Because you asked it of me, my lord.” She laughed to lighten the moment and stepped out into the foyer, bringing him with her. “And I am ever given to trying to please you. In all things.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

After three hours of play, Garrett Lynch had indeed proven himself to possess the devil’s own luck, just as Percy had said. His winnings tallied higher and higher according to Gerald, who reported periodically to Mrs. Kelly, who in turn imparted news of the party to its hostess.

As Lynch’s winnings mounted, Jameson’s mood darkened. And the brandy, port, and whiskey flowed more heavily. Tattle-mongering with the servants was not the usual bent of a hostess, but how else was she to monitor what was occurring within her walls without actually being present? Besides, she hardly ran her household, or her life, by conventional means.

While her guests had been deep in play, she had been deep into ledgers with her spectacles perched on the end of her nose and a hot pot of good Bohea tea at her side. If one or two of her investments came through, she should have her books in good enough order to remain independent for at least several years, albeit with some reduced circumstances. Freedom beckoned.

Voices in the foyer drew her away from the columns of figures at last. It was Freddie asking Gerald to summon Mr. Jameson’s carriage.

“Aye, sir.”

“These experiences are more liberating than you could imagine,” Jameson was speaking low and persuasively to someone as he waited.

Her stomach knotted. No good could come of this tête-à-tête. Was it eavesdropping when the conversation carried clearly into the room one had occupied for the bulk of the evening? She was certain the gentlemen did not realize she was only a few feet away with a cracked door between them—although the light spilling from the doorway should have provided a clue that she had not retired upstairs just yet.

“Far more, yet at the same time less, intimidating than stories that circulate,” Jameson continued. “I am quite certain you would . . . enjoy the entertainments we could offer. Young men with certain appetites and excellent families are always welcome.”

“Then it is as Percy said. You are a member of the Devil’s Club?” Freddie spoke in a somewhat shocked tone.

A chill raced over her arms at the mention of the name.

“Others call it that.” Jameson’s offhand tones spoke again. “To us it is a rite of passage, a commitment of gentlemen.”

Gentlemen!
A second chill followed the first. She drew her silk shawl tighter over her shoulders

“A rite of passage,” Percy sounded more than a little foxed. “I told you it was something like that, Stanhope, old man.”

“Yes.” Freddie did not seem convinced, but the very fact that he had suspected this man was somewhat unsavory and had allowed Percy to bring him here made Maura’s stomach swirl. “But—”

“Have no fear, my lord. You’ll only need to participate once to realize the chances our little society offers for freedom and invention—A place for men to truly engage in, and savor, the sexual fantasies a man is privy to in the deepest recesses of his soul. The sort of experimentation unwelcomed by one’s wife, or even one’s mistress, can be indulged with women who play the game to the hilt.”

The nagging worry that had been her companion all evening in regard to Harold Jameson surged in a hot wash of concern and dismay. The lascivious temptations he alluded to would seem all too enticing to a young hellion like Percy Masters and perhaps even Freddie. No wonder Percy had been so intent on anything the man wanted to say. He’d no doubt hoped all evening the invitation she had just overheard would be forthcoming.

Oh Percy.
She’d like nothing better than to shake that nodcock and give him a long lecture about what entailed proper behavior for a gentleman in his position and what did not.

“Well, I say old man, that is very decent of you,” Percy gushed. “Wouldn’t you say, Stanhope? Or perhaps I should say indecent.” Percy laughed at his own sally.

“I really cannot desert my guests,” Freddie protested.

“Perhaps we can continue the party at your club, Jameson,” Percy prompted. “What say you?”

“Well,” Jameson did not sound at all pleased by the suggestion. “Perhaps some of the gentlemen might be appropriate for an invitation. We must be discreet. Longford might prove acceptable and one or two others.”

“I know just who to tap. Let me handle it for you.”

It was time for her to intervene. She rattled the heavy brass handle on the salon door and swept into the foyer with an elaborate rustle of skirts and a startled look on her face. “I’m sorry, I had no idea anyone was out here. Are you leaving us so soon, Mr. Jameson?”

“Unfortunately, my dear.” He favored her with a look that told her he saw right through her timely entrance. “Not only do I have that further engagement I mentioned, but my pockets are quite to let thanks to Lynch’s savvy play.”

“Not that this has not been the veriest of good times—Jameson here may be spiriting some others of your company away from you, dear Mrs. Fitzgerald. I’ll just nip back to the faro tables and see who might be interested.” Percy slid open the pocket doors and slipped inside without noticing the look of consternation on Jameson’s face.

Freddie moved to stand beside her. A look of relief and admiration lit his eyes as he took her arm in his.

“If you have already spoken to my footman, your carriage should be along momentarily, Mr. Jameson.”

He lifted a brow at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Fitzgerald. I appreciate your . . . attentions. I hope you will favor me with future invitations, despite my inability to see the night through. Just as I may endeavor to tempt Stanhope here with a few invitations of my own. Perhaps the theatre? I would like to pursue my acquaintance with you both. You make a charming couple.”

Certainly it was only Freddie’s solid presence by her side that restrained their guest from favoring her with another of his long perusals designed to leave her feeling naked and soiled. She suppressed the urge to shiver under the cold promise in his words.

“Thank you. Either will be entirely up to His Lordship.” She managed a pleasant but neutral tone with effort. “Would you mind if I borrowed Lord Stanhope for a moment? He’ll be back to bid you farewell in a thrice.”

“How could I refuse such a softly worded request?” Jameson bowed and stepped closer to the front door even as she drew Freddie across and into the doorway of her private salon.

“Is everything all right, Maura? I am surprised you have not yet retired. You must be fatigued after all your preparations.” The concern in his voice was so genuine, so appealing. As was the warmth in his eyes after the hardness in Harold Jameson’s.

She seized the small chance to keep him safe from the other man’s influence, if only for this time, and broke her only rule in their relationship. “Stay with me tonight.”

Freddie froze. His gaze fixed hers in the space of a single heartbeat. She couldn’t help but smile at the ardent look on his face.

“Maura—”

“I hope you will understand if the baron joins us this evening, Mrs. Fitzgerald.” Jameson’s invitation drifted back toward them, brazenly repeating his enticement for what was surely a night of debauchery in her very presence.

Percy and two of the other young bucks emerged from the card room.

“Wait here.” Freddie squeezed her hand and stepped out into the foyer once again

“I appreciate your invitation, Jameson, and I cannot say I am not . . . intrigued. But I’m afraid I already have plans.”

“How disappointing, but not entirely surprising,” Jameson intoned archly.

“And Percy, my friend, did you not promise to help me host this night of frivolity organized in your honor? How can you desert me?”

Maura peeked discreetly around the door in time to see Percy’s crestfallen expression and Jameson’s casual shrug.

“Perhaps the offer will be repeated at another time. Shall we be off then gentlemen?” Harold Jameson ushered Lord Longford and his other pirated guest out the door Gerald held open.

Tension sluiced from Maura as he left, even as she worried about Freddie’s other two friends. At least Freddie had displayed enough sense to pull Percy back. She stepped up to join Freddie and his remaining guest.

Percy swayed in the gaslight for a moment as if trying to grasp what had just happened, rather like a child who had a promised treat snatched away. He obviously had imbibed too freely, even with watered drinks, to make any rational decision. After a moment more of swaying, he shrugged and put his arm around Freddie’s shoulder. “Come on, my lord. Once more into the breach. This chap Lynch’s won most of my pin money for this quarter. I’d like a chance to earn it back from him.”

“As you wish, my friend. One more round.”

As they turned back into the gameroom, Freddie leaned down toward Maura. “You meant what you said?”

“Aye, my lord.” She breathed the words to him, happy to have rescued him from Harold Jameson’s pursuits this time at least, and relieved despite herself that this small drama had succeeded in pulling her thoughts away from the dangerous path they trod while she looked through her ledgers.

Dangerous was definitely one way to consider Garrett Lynch despite his appealing demeanor. So like the hawthorns of which he reminded her. Familiar, green, and inviting, but beware the thorns that lurked beneath. She had enough to handle right now, as she tried to rearrange her life and finances so that she could provide for those she loved, for those who depended on her, and yet establish herself independently. She was almost there. Almost free.

There was no room for yet another man in her life, especially one who could see her only in the role she had established for herself—a rich man’s pastime.
Eyes of green to steal a woman’s soul and hair of midnight ebony
, not withstanding. There was no place in her life or future for Garrett Lynch or any of his kind. When she and Freddie parted, she had no intention of being a kept mistress ever again.

She needed to hold on to Freddie’s affections for just a little while longer, if only to keep him safe from Jameson’s machinations. She hoped the man would grow bored and move on to likelier targets in whatever game he played.

Guilt twinged. Having Stanhope stay the night would no doubt offer him hopes along lines she knew were doomed. Still, he was surely safer occupied in ardent pursuit of her than trailing after things that might get him into far worse trouble.

“I’ll await you in my chamber,” she promised.

“Then it shall be a very short round.”

 

 

Footsteps sounded on the grand staircase even as Garrett maintained his careless posture sprawled on Mrs. Fitzgerald’s dainty, satin-tufted settee. He dare not react lest he alert the footman set to keep an eye on him.

His back ached, and he longed for a good stretch and a hot cup of coffee. Both would have to wait. Mrs. Fitzgerald’s manservant had spent most of the night dozing on a stool opposite the door. Long practice and his own current deception had proven such appearances often misleading. Still, if this fellow was merely posing in his apparent slumbers, he had proven himself eminently believable and as such could be a useful recruit at some later date.

The descending steps were light, soft, and quick. Definitely not the tread of Stanhope’s dress boots or the jingling shuffle of the housekeeper and her keys. Perhaps one of the upper maids dared flout the practice of most well-ordered households by utilizing the main stairs in favor of less direct service steps to hasten the completion of whatever errand she was about? The one who greeted him at the door last night had been a pretty little package.

Slitting his eyes open a fraction, he peered toward the partially open doorway. A shift in the footman’s posture as his chin rose and his shoulders straightened signaled not only his alertness but either that he hoped to impress the maid in question or that the person descending to the foyer was the portly man’s employer.

A distant clock had chimed the hour just a short time ago. The earliness of the descent surprised Garrett as much as the notion his unknowing hostess might be up and about her business when her
business,
in the form of her patron, presumably still lay abed upstairs.

He had a hard time conceiving how any man would allow such a woman loose from his bed any sooner than absolutely necessary. Images of Maura Fitzgerald’s wide gray eyes, long dark hair, and enticingly genuine smile hovered in his thoughts.

The kind of smile to warm the darkest corners of a man’s soul.
The oddly romantic thought that sizzled through him when he caught her in the doorway last night still disconcerted him. If he had any soul left, it was hardly that of a romantic, let alone where another man’s nesting grounds were concerned.

Still, the creamy white skin promised by the neckline of her gown last night and the memory of her in his arms, smelling of spring roses and fitting against him so perfectly, had haunted him through the dark of a night spent in her utterly feminine yet unfrilly private salon—a contradiction in design matching the woman decorating the premises.

Most men’s mistresses flaunted the jewels and wealth showered on them. Her attire last evening had been alluring but eminently tasteful. The rooms she’d opened for the card party were well appointed but had more the feeling of a family home than a sensual love nest. She wore scant makeup and arranged her hair in an easy manner that bespoke a country picnic rather than a night of entertainment.

Stanhope’s mistress was indeed a sweet package of contradictions, worth puzzling over under other circumstances. He could well understand the attraction for Stanhope; not for the first time since entering the door of this house, he felt a pang of envy for the baron. But not enough to ignore the direct request of the young man’s grandfather to separate him from this woman.

“Good morning, Gerald.”

While Mrs. Fitzgerald’s dulcet greeting confirmed one set of his assumptions, it still surprised him that any man who took Maura Fitzgerald to bed would let a prize like her ever leave it, let alone after such a short night. Perhaps Stanhope was not so enamored of her as he let on, despite the mooncalf looks he’d given her whenever she was in the room last night.