Scandal Wears Satin (18 page)

But for a good part of the journey they drove in an easy silence. Twice she woke, and discovered she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. This was no small feat. Even with excellent springs and scrupulous maintenance, no carriage ride was perfectly smooth.

The second time she woke, and hastily drew away, he laughed and said, “I knew you were tired.”

“It’s the rocking,” she said.

“You might as well sleep if you can,” he said. “We’ve a distance to go. I only hope we can reach Portsmouth before the moonset. I’m not looking forward to navigating streets I don’t know in the predawn dark.”

Chapter Ten

Happy, indeed will the visitor be who is so fortunate as to be on the Platform when a first-rate man-of-war is sailing out of the harbour. He will then enjoy one of the grandest sights in the world, in beholding the majestic castle gliding along the water, and hearing the astounding sound of her guns, when in passing she salutes the garrison flag.

—
The new Portsmouth, Southsea, Anglesey & Hayling Island Guide
, 1834

T
he moon was setting by the time they reached Portsmouth. Still, all Longmore had to do was keep to the main thoroughfare. Along the High street were many prosperous-looking establishments. For lodgings he had a choice between the Fountain and the George, the two major coaching inns. He decided on the George, because the Royal Mail set out from there. Too, it was the one recommended to Clara’s maid.

After sending Fenwick to gossip with the servants and stablemen, Longmore took Sophy into the inn.

He was sure he’d be relying mainly on Fenwick at this point, since the landlord of a busy town’s busy inn—still awake and bustling even at this hour—probably wouldn’t remember the two women. If Clara behaved as she’d done previously, she’d have kept in the background, letting Davis hire the room and arrange for meals and such. Plain women tended not to make an impression.

The innkeeper had no recollection of two ladies traveling together, and his guest ledger confirmed this.

Longmore moved away, to talk to Sophy. “We might as well stop,” he told her. “There’s little we can do at this hour.”

“But you said the sun would be up soon, near four o’clock,” she said. She took up the pocket watch that dangled from the belt of her carriage dress. “It’s only half past two.”

“And you look like the very devil,” he said. “You need to sleep.”

“I slept in the carriage,” she said.

She’d slept against his shoulder, her hat’s absurd decorations tickling his chin now and again. She’d sink lower and lower, then, at a certain point, she’d wake with a start.

He thought it was adorable—an odd thought to have about Sophy, but there it was. She was a complicated girl. That was what made her so interesting. That and the delicious mouth and smell and perfect figure.

“It wasn’t proper sleep,” he said. “The fact remains, you look like the devil.” Ignoring her protests, he hired a room for her and ordered a meal as well. And a maid. Someone needed to get her out of her clothes and into bed. It had better not be him, or no one would get any rest.

S
ophy had only the dimmest memory of what had happened after they reached the inn. Weariness had welled up, a massive wave, which must have been building for weeks. It had simply swamped her. She could barely keep her eyes open, let alone continue arguing with Longmore.

She did remember his fussing over her and ordering everybody about. He’d insisted on a maid for her, and she dimly recalled the maid chattering at her as they went up the stairs to the room he’d hired. He’d had a light meal sent up and Sophy had eaten it, surprised at how hungry she was. She’d washed and undressed with—considering the hour—the maid’s extremely cheerful and patient help. Longmore must have given the girl a large gratuity.

Tired as she was, Sophy hadn’t expected to sleep. The longer they’d searched, the more anxious she’d become about Lady Clara. She’d persuaded Longmore that his sister was safe with Davis watching out for her, but Sophy hadn’t persuaded herself.

Yet sleep she must have done, since the noise woke her. She was so groggy that it took a moment to realize someone was beating on the door.

She bolted upright, heart pounding, to see early-morning sunlight streaming in through the window. How long had she slept?

She stumbled out of bed, found her dressing gown on the chair nearby, and was pulling it on when she heard Longmore’s voice. “Where’s the confounded maid?”

Sophy ran to the door and flung it open.

Longmore stood in the corridor, fully dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing when they arrived. Had he not slept? He hadn’t shaved, certainly. The shadow along his jaw made him look more dangerous than ever.

“Clara’s here,” he said.

“Here? In the inn?”

“No,” he said. “That is, if she has, nobody’s told me. But she hasn’t left Portsmouth yet. I shouldn’t have wakened you—”

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep,” she said.

“Never mind that. I need your help. People get suspicious when a man seems to be hunting a young woman. They become less than candid. Fenwick lacks your charming methods of extracting information from the unwilling, and I’m having trouble holding onto my temper.”

“You’ve been searching, without me,” she said reproachfully.

He stepped over the threshold and she took two steps back. He looked down at her feet. She did, too. They were bare.

“Where are your slippers?” he said.

Without waiting for an answer, he strode to the bed, found the slippers, and gestured at a chair. She sat. “I can put on my own—”

“You’re not even awake.” He knelt and took her foot and slid it into the slipper. He paused, his hand still on her foot, and stared for what seemed a very long time.

“I’m awake,” she said. “I can do that.”

He came out of his trance and put the other slipper on, then stood. “You shouldn’t run about barefoot in public hostelries,” he said.

“I wasn’t running about—and you shouldn’t have been searching without me.”

“You needed sleep,” he said. “You’ve needed it this age, I’ll wager anything. You keep ridiculous hours.”

“I’m a working woman,” she said.

“You ought to give it up.”

“
What?
”

“The whole thing’s absurd,” he said. “Your sister married a duke. I told Clevedon . . .” he trailed off.

“What did you tell him?”

“Never mind that now,” he said.

“I certainly will mind it now,” she said.

“Do you want to find Clara or do you want to quarrel?” he said.

“Preferably both,” she said.

“Don’t aggravate me,” he said. “I haven’t time to throttle you. Fenwick and I were up at dawn’s crack—”

“Without me.”

“Without you,” he said. “Some infernal gun went off. I’m informed that it does so twice a day, sunrise and sunset. After that I saw no point in trying to sleep. I took Fenwick to the docks. It took a while for me to find the area we wanted, but we did eventually. We found out which passenger ships had left since the earliest time Clara could have arrived. We’re reasonably sure she wasn’t aboard any of them. But I can explain all that later. I only came to tell you to make haste.”

“Very well.”

She rose from the chair and stumbled to the washstand. In spite of the abrupt awakening, she was still muddle-headed. She filled the bowl with water and washed her face. That improved matters. She was drying her face when she saw his, behind her, in the mirror.

“Can’t you go any faster?” he said.

“It will take me at least half an hour without a maid’s help,” she said.

“I don’t know where she went or what she’s doing,” he said. “All I know is that when I asked for one a moment ago, I was told, ‘Straightaway.’ That could mean hours from now. The place is a madhouse. Most of the servants seem to be in the dining room, running frantically hither and yon, serving breakfast.”

He waved at the carriage dress she’d worn yesterday, which the maid had hung carefully over a chair. “Just throw it on, can’t you? We’re not going to a fashion parade.”

“I can’t just throw it on! How can you be so obtuse?”

“Easily,” he said. “It wants no effort at all.”

Later, when she had time, when she could see straight, she was going to hit him with something bigger than a brick.

She found her chemise and petticoats and corset, and laid them out on the bed. Tired and cross—and maybe because she was who she was and couldn’t resist playing with fire—she pulled off her dressing gown, then the nightdress.

She would have done the same thing had she been with her sisters and in a great hurry to be gone from somewhere. She was well aware she wasn’t with her sisters.

“Damnation!”

She glanced back at him as she pulled on her chemise. He’d turned his back on her nakedness.

That was funny. Her mood lightened a degree. “You could try sending for the maid,” she said.

“Not for worlds,” he said.

“Then look,” she said. “I don’t care. I’m not modest.”

That was no lie. Merely because she made clothes for a living didn’t mean she was shy about being unclothed. Even in front of him. Or, rather,
especially
in front of him. She was a Noirot, after all.

“I’m not looking,” he said. “I’m not modest either, but I need to keep my wits about me. By Jupiter, you’re the very devil.”

She stepped into her drawers and tied the tapes at the waist. She donned the petticoat and tied it. She arranged the corset on the bed and started lacing it.

“What’s taking so long?” he said. He turned. “What in the name of Satan and all his minions are you doing?”

“It’s one of the new corsets Marcelline invented,” she said. “One can do it up oneself. But the maid didn’t understand how it worked, and I was too tired to explain clearly enough, it seems. She untied the lacing, and I need to—”

“I can do up the lacing,” he said. “Actually, I’m quite good at it.”

“This doesn’t surprise me,” she said. She slid the corset over her head and slipped her arms through the straps. She tugged the corset down and snugged it over her torso.

As she was adjusting the straps, Longmore came up behind her.

“One leaves it knotted at the bottom and laced,” she explained. “Then one need only put it on and pull it tight in front.”

“Ingenious,” he said.

“But she untied the knot and undid it in the usual way.”

“I see that,” he said.

She was aware of his hands at the base of her spine, knotting the tie. She felt him drawing the lacing through the eyelets, smoothing the narrow tape as he worked his way steadily up her back, tugging with precisely the right degree of firmness.

He certainly had the knack of it. How many women had he undone?

His hands were warm against her back. His breath was warm, too, at the back of her neck. The tiny hairs at her nape rose.

When he’d finished, he didn’t move away immediately. His hands rested on her hips. He stood so close that she could hear his quickened breathing. She could feel the heat of his big body—or was that her own heat? He stood so close that she had only to lean back a very little . . .

Her heart was racing, and the devil in her was clouding her mind, urging her to lean back that small distance.
Don’t you want those
deft, capable hands on you, on your skin?
it seemed to whisper.
Don’t you want
that powerful body on yours?
In
yours?

Then the tiny voice, the one Cousin Emma had instilled, argued:
And what happens to your power, if you succumb to this?

She’d already given in to her inner demons and played with fire: She’d thrown off her nightclothes and given him an eyeful. It was madly irresponsible—even for her—to forget why she was here.

Lady Clara.

Everything depended on her. The shop. Their future. Success or a mortifying failure. Dowdy triumphing over them, laughing at them.

Grimly she summoned her willpower.

He turned her around and pushed her hands away from the corset. He gave another firm tug, then swiftly tied the lacing in front.

She stepped away from him and took up one of the sleeve puffs.

“Gad, must you?” he said. His voice was low, the dark, dangerous voice that made her mind thick.

She looked up. He was dragging his fingers through his hair.

She wanted to tear her hair out. But she was a Noirot. “Have you noticed the size of my dress sleeves?” she said calmly. “Without the puffs, it’ll look as though I have skirts hanging from my shoulders.” She slipped her arm through one of the puffs. “You said people were suspicious of you. Have you had a good look at yourself in the mirror? One of us at least oughtn’t to look disreputable. And it won’t take long. Leonie invented these.”

“You’re all so inventive,” he said.

She started tying the upper tape to her corset strap.

“Why did you wear this complicated rig?” he said.

“This is what one of your fashionable
chères amies
would wear,” she said patiently. “Although I don’t doubt their clothes wouldn’t be quite so well made. Nor would they be made at the farthest, dangerous edge of the latest fashion.”

“Let me do that,” he said. “You might be unusually flexible, but I can see better what I’m doing.”