The Temptation of Laura (9 page)

“You’ve no money?”

He stared ahead, his jaw set. “No.”

Laura didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. For all his pompous attitude, it appeared the man had relied on his parents for a long while and now found himself broke. She slipped her hand from his arm as regret he wasn’t as perfectly strong and capable as she’d imagined lodged like a rock in her throat.

“I have disappointed you.”

She lifted her shoulders as they neared the alley where she and Bette lived. “Maybe. A little. But it’s none of my business how you choose to lead your life. Independence was something forced on me. I didn’t have the luxury of choice.”

He laughed. “As was my dependence.”

The carefree tone of his laughter would’ve been taken as nonchalance by someone not used to the wiles and wills of a lonely man. Lonely men were the backbone of her life, and to hear heartache in Adam’s voice disturbed her. She halted at the entrance to the alley and faced him.

“Our circumstances are entirely different.”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “My father is a very successful man. Retail. He owns several shops both in Bath and Bristol. I have been educated and cared for, but my parents have never
seen
me. They do not
know
me and never will. I think any man or woman who bears a child and does not truly see them should never have been given the blessing of parenthood in the first place.”

The conviction in his words penetrated through her skin and bones to her rapidly beating heart. Her mother never saw her either. She only saw the profit to be made in her fifteen-year-old daughter’s body. She saw nothing past the money Laura could make. Never in her life had she considered her mother’s neglect in the way Adam spoke of now. The beatings, yes. The hunger, yes. The humiliation . . . but never the blindness.

“I . . .” She nodded and tilted her chin to look deep into his eyes. “I agree.”

For a long moment, they stood toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye, neither moving nor—on Laura’s part—breathing. Slowly, he leaned forward and kissed her. His lips were velvety soft, gentle, and loving. Her stomach knotted and she gripped his biceps.

She’d think afterward. She’d worry later. Right now, the silent connection was too intense, too important to ignore. He saw her. She saw him.

They parted, and he brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “Show me where you live, lovely Laura.”

She smiled and inert shyness flooded her to see such appreciative study in his intelligent brown eyes. “Right this way.”

He stepped back and nerves bounded inside. She forced one foot in front of the other. Bette would, no doubt, be sleeping, and when she awoke to the sight of Adam Lacey in their living room, a heart attack would most likely take her beloved friend rather than the pneumonia she fought.

They reached the front door and Laura took her key from her drawstring bag. With a final glance at Adam, she pushed the key into the lock and entered her home. She listened to his footsteps behind her. The door clicked closed and he exhaled into the darkness.

She wouldn’t consider what such a heavy breath meant. Instead, she pulled back her shoulders and waved toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you go through. I’ll just look in on Bette and then put the kettle on.”

“Laura?”

“Yes?”

Determination whirled in his eyes. “I want to meet your friend. I need to speak with her.”

Laura opened her mouth to refuse, to tell him to leave Bette alone, but no words formed. She slumped in defeat and led him toward the open living-room door.

Adam entered Laura’s living room and blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness. The sliver of moonlight that darted across the rug at his feet and the flickering flame of a candle by the side of a bed in the far corner provided the only illumination. The air was thick with the sour stench of illness and the room cold. He glanced toward the fire grate. The embers were low and only a meager amount of kindling was stacked in a wooden box on the hearth; there were no thick logs like those that adorned his fireplace uptown.

Self-realization twisted in his gut. Was he any wealthier than Laura to afford the luxury of heat? Most likely not—he lived under a veneer of pretense while Laura eked out a living as best she could. She stood for hours serving and smiling at the wealthy men and women who came to the theater—more often to socialize, flirt, and turn tricks than enjoy the production—and for what? Little money and even less appreciation.

He had no right to call himself a man. Things had to change.
He
had to change. Tightening his jaw, Adam approached the bed, aware Laura watched him from the doorway. She had to think him more capable than he currently believed himself. With her beside him, God only knew what the future could hold for them both.

The woman lying beneath the covers moved and her thin arm reached for the candleholder beside her. “Laura?”

“I’m here, Bette.” Laura spoke from behind him.

Adam cleared his throat and purposely stepped into the light when the woman lifted the candle. “Hello, Bette. I’m Adam Lacey, I walked—”

Her sharp intake of breath sliced through the room. “Adam Lacey?” A second or two passed before her raspy exhalation followed. “Am I dead?”

He glanced at Laura and she merely lifted an amused eyebrow in response.

Bette coughed. “If you’re standing in our living room, dressed as you are and looking fifty times more handsome than Laura told me, I’ve either died or I’m dreaming.”

Relief rushed from his lungs and Adam laughed as he stepped closer. “You’re not dead. I’m glad to hear Laura described me as handsome.”

A shuffle of skirts behind him and Laura brushed past, none too gently nudging him out of the way to get to her friend. “I never said you were handsome. Not once. Bette, Mr. Lacey—”

He cleared his throat. “Adam.”

Laura shot him a glare over her shoulder. “
Adam
insisted on walking me home, but now he’s leaving.”

“No, I’m not.”

Bette grinned before a coughing fit engulfed her.

His smile vanished. The hacking sounded so raw and painful, it made him want to clutch his chest. The woman could not have weighed more than seven or eight stone. The efforts racked her entire body. Leaping forward, he cupped Laura’s elbow and moved her to the side.

He gripped Bette’s skinny frame and gently maneuvered her until she sat upright against the pillows. He smoothed his hand in firm circles over her upper back until the coughing eased enough he could reach for the glass of water at her bedside.

“Okay, Bette, enough of that. Come on now, drink this.”

He tipped the glass to her lips and she managed several sips before she collapsed against the pillows, her shoulders rising and falling from her exertion. Frowning, Adam pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Do you have any more candles? I can hardly see a thing in here.”

Bette managed a half smile. “What do you want to see? Surely not my ugly mug?”

Adam smiled. “It is in your best interest we increase the light in here.”

“Why’s that?”

“Darkness can make a man think it is time for bed.” He winked. “You surely do not want to risk me climbing in beside you?”

Bette chuckled hoarsely.

Adam turned to Laura. “Do you have more candles?”

Her eyes were shaded in the semidarkness, but he could have sworn a tear glowed bright in the corner of her eye. He reached for her hand, but she stepped back, the glow of the candle beside her now lit her suspicious gaze as it locked on his. He frowned. “Are you all right?”

She laughed, glanced toward Bette and back again. “Of course. Candles. You need candles. Just . . . just wait there. I’ll be right back.”

Adam raised his eyebrows at her retreating back as though the devil chased her. Shaking his head, he faced Bette. Her smile was wider than the Avon Gorge.

“What?”

“Lord, if you haven’t put the wind up her.”

“Laura? I think not. I do not see how anyone, man or woman, could put the wind up a woman like that.” He tugged a chair closer to the bed and sat. “I have never met anyone more in control of what she will or will not do.”

“Hmm . . . well, for a start, we keep the candles in that bureau over there. God only knows where she thinks she’s going. You’ve put her in all sorts of a fuss.” A glare and set jaw replaced Bette’s smile as she narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here, fancy Adam Lacey? Moreover, what is it you want with my Laura?”

Adam stared. If such a notion were possible, Bette’s eyes were even more steely and determined than Laura’s. He leaned his elbows on the bed, the musty smell of dank sheets and sweat lingered. He had to make this woman see what he could do for her and Laura.

“I want her to star in a play I have written. I want her to see how beautiful and talented she is. She is a born actress, whether she realizes it or not.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You think she don’t know that?”

Adam straightened. “She has acted before?”

Bette’s eyes gleamed. “Yep.”

“Why did she not say so? Why would she be working selling oranges?” He frowned. “You are toying with me. Forgive me, but why would a working actress live here? In these conditions?”

Bette grinned and let out another croaky burst of laughter. “She’s an actress from her toes to her scalp.”

The inkling he was entirely missing something pummeled into his brain just as Laura appeared in the doorway. “What are you two talking about?”

He stood and opened his mouth to speak, but Bette got there first. “I was just telling Mr. Lacey what a good actress you are, and we don’t need the likes of him telling us what we already know.”

Laura’s entire body turned rigid and she scowled before brushing past him toward the bed. “Not funny, Bette.”

She laughed. “’Course it is.”

An incessant banging at the front door froze Laura to the spot. Everything stilled. The volume of the ticking clock on the mantel increased. He looked from Laura’s wide-eyed stare to Bette. The woman’s gaze was locked on Laura, her eyes reflecting a mix of question and challenge. What was he missing?

He nodded toward the hallway. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

Still no one moved. Adam stepped to leave the room. “Fine. I’ll answer it.”

“No.”

“No.”

Laura and Bette’s voices joined.

He planted his hands on his hips. “What is going on? I came here in good faith and now I feel as though you two are about to pull out some scheme to have me strung up by my trousers.”

“Shhh.” Laura flapped her hand back and forth. “Just simmer down. Wait.”

Another knock at the door was followed by clanging metal resounding in the hallway. The caller had evidently lifted the letterbox in the front door. “Only me, Laura. Open up.”

Adam raised his eyebrow. “Who’s that?”

“No one.” Laura’s whisper was urgent. “Quiet.”

Irritation swam in his veins as Adam looked from one woman to the other. The man’s voice at the door held an underlying threat, an intent to do Laura harm. If she or Bette thought he would stand there rather than get rid of an unwelcome visitor, they had better think again.

“I hear you’re working at the theater now, Laura.” The man growled. “Now, what did I tell you about that, eh? You think you can get away from working for me that easily? I’ll find out the gentleman who’s keeping you, and then we’ll negotiate. I’m sure if I tell him for a bit extra charge you’ll give him a service he’ll never forget . . .”

The remainder of the man’s tirade faded into the background of Adam’s consciousness as he stared at Laura. She stood stock-still, her eyes locked on his. Indecision battled in his heart, and confusion blurred his concentration. Disbelief overrode everything.
Laura’s a whore? That is what Bette was inferring when she said she was an actress?

The letterbox clattered closed and he blinked out of his stupor as words and questions bounced and leaped in his head. What was he to say to her? Did her life before she met him even matter?

Metal clanged once again.

“You’re a whore, Laura.” The visitor laughed. “
My
whore now Bette ain’t strong enough to keep you protected. You think you can go it alone when she’s dead?” He laughed again. “Now you’ll really get a taste of being alone in the big, bad city.”

Irritation gave way to rage, and Adam emitted a low growl before charging forward.

“Adam. No, don’t.” Laura grasped his arm as he strode past her.

Without thinking, he cupped her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes, his body trembling with suppressed anger. “It doesn’t matter. I do not care. It damn well doesn’t matter.”

He snatched his hands from her face and marched to the front door. He yanked it back on its hinges. The man stumbled backward and down the steps, tumbling onto his ass in the dirt. Light from the lanterns at Laura’s door shone on the scumbag.

Adam glared. “Get up.”

The man scowled. “Piss off. This ain’t the business of no punter. Whether or not he’s dressed like a dandy.”

Adam clenched his jaw. “Get up before I drag you up.”

The light around them grew stronger as doorways opened and more and more people stepped out of their homes. Adam leaped onto the moron and wrenched him upright by his lapels. He reeked of cheap cologne and hair cream. His whiskers were sleek and shiny like a cat’s; his cold eyes were green and calculating.

Adam glowered. “What do you want with Laura?”

The man coughed and spluttered as though Adam was already choking him. “Get off me, you toff.”

Adam’s body tensed as pain thumped at his temple. “Answer me. What do you want with her?”

A slow grin curved the bastard’s lips. “You soft on her, mister? Is she spreading those fabulous legs of hers for free?”

Adam shook with rage as he stared into the scum’s face.

“Hit him.”

“Slap him.”

“Kick him in the cock.”

Shouts of women and children filled the alleyway. Did they know this man or were they just braying for blood? Anyone’s blood. Poverty bred contempt; anger and frustration led to decisions that could not be altered or changed. He blinked and fought to focus above the fury roaring in his ears.

Tightening his grip on the man’s jacket, Adam shook him. “Who are you?”

He grinned. “I’m the main man around here. That’s all you need to know.”

“The hell it is.” Adam tightened his jaw. “Tell me your name.”

“You shouldn’t go wasting your time on the likes of Laura Robinson and her friend, Bette.” He sneered. “For all her stupid aspirations, Laura ain’t nothing but a dirty whore—”

A curtain of red colored Adam’s vision as he wrenched his arm back and slammed his fist into the cretin’s face. Bones cracked and blood flew. He threw another punch into his gut and the son of a bitch doubled over before falling to the ground. Adam pulled back his leg, preparing to land him a hard kick in the ribs.

“Adam! Adam, stop.”

He snapped his head around. Laura rushed down the steps of her house. She stood in between him and the scum at their feet, her hands splayed on Adam’s chest and her eyes pleading with him. “Stop. You have to stop. Think of the play. Your career. Don’t do this. You have no idea what he’s capable—”

“That’s right, pretty whore. You tell your fancy man what I’m capable of.”

Adam pulled her to the side, his heart beating like a drum. The man had clambered to his feet and now faced them, his chin tilted in defiance. Adam smiled and took a step closer. His smile stretched to a grin when the bastard inched back.

“I asked you a question.” Adam pushed his finger into the man’s chest. “Who are you?”

“I’m her goddamn keeper, that’s who.” He laughed and looked over Adam’s shoulder toward Laura. “Tell him, sweet cheeks. Tell him you’ll soon be working for me.”

Adam lashed out and gripped the bastard’s neck. Cartilage moved and creaked beneath his fingertips, but still he squeezed harder. “Who. Are. You?”

As the scum’s face turned dark red and his eyes bulged, something inside Adam told him to loosen his grip before he throttled the bastard, but he couldn’t. He wanted to choke him. How dare he speak to Laura like that?

“His name is Malcolm Baxter.” Laura grasped Adam’s forearm and he slightly loosened his grip.

“Why is he here?” He kept his eyes locked on Baxter.

Her gaze bore into Adam’s temple. “Because he preys on whores with promises of protection and housing, only to have them living eight or nine to a three-bedroom house and taking all their money, leaving them pittance for food and heat.”

Her hand slipped from his arm and she circled behind Baxter, her eyes ablaze with anger. She stopped at his side and pushed her face close to his. “Then he takes a free lay and beats them when he realizes their dress is torn or threadbare, as though it’s the woman’s fault rather than his.”

She turned from Baxter, and Adam stared into her violet eyes, his heart beating fast to see such pain and rage reflected back at him. “I’m a whore, Adam. A whore from the age of fifteen right up until a couple of months ago. Go home. Go home and leave me alone.”

His breathing turned harried as she strode back to the house. Anger ebbed and flowed in his blood. She had no idea who he was. No idea how he had done little more than whore himself for the last twelve months—albeit with a wealthy widow. He understood her pain, her frustration, and how little it took to make a person feel worthless.