Virginia Henley (43 page)

“Those who don’t go to the workhouse end up in there.”

She opened her eyes to see they were passing Fleet Prison.

“The wardenship is bought and sold for profit. Lord Clarendon just sold it for five thousand pounds. The governors and jailers grow rich extracting money from the inmates. Those who can’t pay are rewarded with brutality, manacles, thumbscrews, and starvation. They don’t suffer too long. The cells and dungeons are over a common sewer. They die of jail fever or smallpox.”

They didn’t speak again until the hackney stopped outside Curzon Street. Savage took her hand. “I’m speaking in the House tomorrow. I’d like you to be in the gallery, to give me moral support. Now you’ve got something to write about in your journal other than me.” He pulled off her cap, allowing the silken mass of her hair to fall down
about her shoulders. He brushed his lips across her brow before he opened the carriage door.

Naturally she had nightmares. They were not nearly as horrific, however, as reality. In one of them Georgiana had a monkey on a golden chain. She continually fed the monkey sweetmeats. When it changed into a little boy, Georgiana didn’t seem to notice. She patted it on the head, popped a sugarplum into its mouth, and laughed. “What a droll little man you are. I must buy one for the Prince.”

In another nightmare she relived taking her bath to scrub off the grime of London’s slums. The dirt came off but not the stink. She scrubbed her skin raw, then in desperation submerged even her head beneath the water. When she came up for air, however, she was in the sea, desperately battling the high waves that prevented her from climbing back aboard the
Seagull.
This time she had her unborn child to think of as well. She awoke in a tangle of bedsheets, wet with perspiration. She offered up a prayer to St. Jude that it had only been a bad dream.

When Antonia opened her wardrobe it seemed to her that she had twice as many gowns as she’d thought. Her hand reached out to touch the rustling taffetas, the whispering silks, and the soft velvets. They were far prettier than she’d remembered, in shades that took her breath away, either exquisitely pale or brightly bold. She realized how lucky she was.

What a spoiled child she had been to cry out against having to wear female attire. It was a privilege to be a woman and a luxury to have an extensive wardrobe. She decided to wear the most vivid color she owned so that she would be easily seen from the Strangers’ Gallery of the House of Commons.

The burnt-orange gown, banded in dark brown velvet at hem and sleeve, was stunning. She took great pains with her hair so that small curls framed her face and one long ringlet fell over her shoulder. She would never wear a wig
again, not after having seen the ridiculous white monstrosities Madame Barras and her daughters had worn. To compliment the outfit and frame her elegant coiffeur she wore a wide straw leghorn trimmed with orange ribbons.

Frances Jersey called for Roz in her carriage for what had become their ritualistic ride in the park.

“Antonia, darling, you are a positive stranger. Do tell me all the latest gossip from Bath. Is that insufferable Beau Nash still ruling the pump room as if he were the Queen? Wags call him Folly behind his back, you know!”

Since Antonia hadn’t a clue about Bath, she deftly changed the subject. “You know everything, Lady Jersey. What time do the speeches in the House begin?”

“Lud, is that where you are off to? They should be in their seats by nine, but certain members like James Fox and that disreputable Sheridan lie on the benches and sleep off their night’s debauch. Who’s speaking?”

Antonia glanced at her grandmother, hoping she wouldn’t refer to her “infatuation.” “Adam Savage. He asked me to give him moral support.”

“Oh, Roz, let’s join Antonia. Women absolutely fawn over him. The gallery will be packed. No one can figure out who his mistress is, but rumor says he has several.”

Roz said dryly, “I was only remarking the other day how foolish it would be to become infatuated with a man like Savage.”

“Oh, Roz, if you have an ounce of blue blood in your veins, how can you help it?”

Antonia ignored Lady Jersey’s remarks, but when they arrived at Westminster she realized with dismay that Frances had the right of it. As they climbed to the Strangers’ Gallery her heart sank to see so many ladies. She stiffened with outrage as her eyes swept over the fashionable gathering. Every female who had visited Half-Moon Street was present. London’s most wealthy, elegant, and beautiful society hostesses eyed each other’s outfits and chatted politely.

When Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, arrived, she caused her usual stir. Frances Jersey looked at Antonia with raised eyebrows and whispered behind her fan, “The odds-on favorite.”

Tony muttered between her teeth, “At least she didn’t bring her damned monkey.” Angry green fire shot from Antonia’s eyes as she leaned forward to study the men below. Someone was talking, probably the Speaker of the House, but he was constantly interrupted by rude remarks from both sides.

Tony’s eyes had no trouble locating Indian Savage. Everything about him was unique, his hair, his clothes, his powerful frame. She forced her gaze away from him. He was conceited enough. The arrogance of the man was astounding. To actually have invited all his conquests to give him
moral
support. There was nothing moral about the lecherous swine!

“Gentlemen, I turn the floor over to the honorable member from Gravesend.”

As Savage stood, a hush fell over the House and a collective sigh whispered across the Gallery.

“Mr. Prime Minister, Speaker of the House, Honorable Colleagues. First, it gives me a great deal of satisfaction to announce that the wives of the honorable members of this House have achieved something we have not. Both Whig and Tory wives have been able to set aside party differences in a worthy cause. Their generosity has astounded me. Their fundraising efforts have set a precedent. Subscriptions are pouring in for the establishment of London’s first foundling hospital. I propose the government support this project.” Savage stopped speaking. He raised his eyes to the gallery and bowed to the ladies. As one, they stood and applauded him. Tony found herself on her feet with the rest of them.

Below, the Speaker had to call for order before Savage could proceed.

“If I were to read the entire list of reforms I intend to
propose, we would be here until doomsday, so I shall be as brief as possible. First I would like to introduce a bill to levy a house rate to pay for the paving and lighting of Westminster. Sanitation in the City of London is nothing short of appalling. Gentlemen, wake up and smell the raw sewage! Other cities will follow London’s lead and our town will be the envy of the Continent. A second bill proposes we establish a Society for Bettering the Conditions of the Poor. Dispensaries should be opened for the poor. If they are taught the rudiments of hygiene and cleanliness, I guarantee the incidence of typhus will drop.”

As Antonia watched him she felt the compelling magnetism he radiated. She saw that everyone present felt it also and her heart began to sing as she realized she was no longer jealous of these women.

“The policing of London is ineffectual. We presently have a hodgepodge of parish officers, beadles, watchmen, and street-keepers. They cannot bring law and order to one million people. I propose another bill to establish an effective police force of constables and marshals. When you walk the streets of London you risk life, limb, and property. Who among you hasn’t been robbed, who hasn’t been diddled by a lawyer or dodged a brick thrown by a rabble-rouser? Only last week a foreign ambassador’s coach was overturned. Mobs must not be allowed to gather or we shall find ourselves no better off than the French.”

This brought thunderous approval from the benches below. Antonia was startled to see that the honorable members of Parliament were banging their shoes on the tables.

“Few of you have much sympathy for prison reform.
Let the criminals rot
is the general consensus. But the entire system is rife with bribery and corruption. Slum dwellers go to jail, slum landlords go to the bank. The rich are pardoned, the poor are brutalized. Last week a boy of seven was publicly hanged for stealing a spoon.”

The House was unusually silent. Antonia felt a lump in
her throat. Beside her, Lady Holland’s eyes filled with tears.

“You have been most generous to allow me so much time when we have a mountain of pressing business before the House, but my conscience would not rest easy if I didn’t touch on one last subject: child labor. The factories and mills have come to depend upon the labor of children as young as five or six who are forced to work up to fifteen hours a day. Gentlemen, that is all day and half the night. They don’t just fall asleep at their machines, they die standing at their looms. I expect this Parliament to pass an act that states no child under nine shall be employed and no child under fifteen shall work more than twelve hours a day.”

There was much dissenting on the floor, but the ladies of the gallery were on their feet applauding.

Tony picked up her skirts and hurried down the stairs that led from the Strangers’ Gallery. She did not know how long it would be before he emerged, but she wanted to be the first person he saw when the doors of the House were thrown open.

“Adam, I had no idea,” Tony said softly as he walked toward her. Her face was absolutely radiant, filled with awe. The suspicion of a tear made her green eyes sparkle.

He took her hands in his. “Don’t bestow sainthood upon me, darling.” His dark head dipped to touch his mouth to hers, then he realized they had attracted a crowd. Young ladies did not allow gentlemen to kiss them
in public places. “I want to take you to bed,” he murmured low. “Come to Half-Moon Street.”

Like one mesmerized she moved with him to his carriage. He closed the curtains against the curious stares of the crowd. He unfastened the ribbons of her leghorn and threw it on the seat opposite, then pulled her against him. “I must balance all this selflessness with a little wickedness.”

“Adam Savage, you are a fraud. You are not wicked at all, probably never were.”

He looked deeply into her eyes. “Ah, love, don’t delude yourself.” His eyes half-closed sensually. “I’m going to take you to bed and prove you wrong, several times.”

Tony’s heart was singing. Her instincts had been right about this man all along. She was deeply in love with him, knew she would never feel this way about another, knew she would love him forever. She was so proud of him, her heart felt it might burst with joy. He was noble, forthright, committed, and the most physically compelling man in London. She wanted him today, she wanted him tomorrow, she wanted him forever. He was all males rolled into one, father, guardian, friend, lover, husband—

Tony caught her breath and sobered. What if he didn’t want her for his wife? He must, he must, she was carrying his child! All she had to do was tell him. John Bull said Adam wanted children, that he intended to found a dynasty.

Today she had learned he had a deep concern for all children. His own child would be precious to him; the mother of his child would be cherished. And yet Antonia could not bring herself to reveal her secret. She laid her head upon his broad chest and closed her eyes. Beneath her cheek she felt his heart beating slowly, strongly, and she hoped that it beat only for her. She made a wish that there would never be room in his heart for another woman.

Adam raised her chin with his fingers so he could see
her lovely face. He saw her silver tears. He sat up immediately and lifted her into his lap. “My sweetheart, whatever’s wrong?”

In the security of his embrace she almost blurted out her fears. He felt as solid as the rock of Gibraltar. All she needed to do was confess her problem and he would solve it immediately. She took a deep breath and heard herself say, “Nothing, I’m just so happy.”

Tony would be guided by her instinct. She was a woman, not a girl. Adam Savage was the sort of man who needed a woman. She wanted his love but she also wanted his respect. Even more important was her own self-respect.

Tony threaded her fingers through his long black hair, then whispered, “Your eyes are as blue as the Bay of Biscay.” She lifted her mouth for his kiss, knowing the passionate response these words always incited. She felt him harden beneath her. Even his thighs turned to marble. Nay, marble was cold. Rather, she felt she was sitting upon rock heated by molten lava.

His kiss was fierce, scalding. “I’m burning for you,” he growled.

She knew he spoke the truth. She felt the searing heat of his loins through her gown. Suddenly she couldn’t bear the separation of so many layers of material. She lifted her bottom, swept aside her skirts and petticoats, then sat back down upon him.

“Christ, you’re hotter than I am.” She was the most sexually responsive woman he had ever known. To respond instantly to one touch, one word, or even just one look was the most flattering and exciting thing a man could ever experience.

The carriage was slowing. “Can you wait till we go upstairs?” he whispered huskily.

“Can you?” she panted. His swollen bulge was pressing exquisitely into her cleft. Neither of them knew if they could hold on or if they would spill. They held their breaths as they alighted from the carriage, then slowly,
stiffly, with great dignity entered Half-Moon Street. They nodded to the servants, solemnly greeted Jeffrey Sloane, then with careful, deliberate steps ascended the stairs.

The split second the bedchamber door closed, they whooped with laughter, flinging off their clothes with wild abandon. He lifted her high so that her mons was level with his mouth, then pretended to bite her. She screamed playfully, then moaned as he slid her body down his until she rested on his upthrust sex.

His hand moved down between their bodies, his fingers spread her open, he flicked her bud, felt it pulse, then positioned the swollen crown of his cock on it. Taking a silken bottom cheek in each hand he drew her down over his engorged length.

Her sheath began to rhythmically flex and relax, flex and relax. When their mouths came together she opened her lips and offered him her tongue. He took all of it, sucking hard in a rhythm that matched that of her tight sheath. Adam walked to the high bed. His thick man-root deepened with every step he took.

Tony had no idea how he sustained so long, but she offered up thanks to the goddess of love that he did. When his knees touched the bed, he unwound her arms from about his neck.

“Lie back,” he commanded with a roughened voice.

She obeyed. He had positioned her on the bottom corner. He did not come down with her, but stood between her thighs, still impaled. He reached down very deliberately, placing his strong, calloused thumbs, on the pink flesh just where the cleft peaked. His downstroke was as violent as a lightning bolt. As he withdrew, his thumbs stroked in circles on either side of her bud, multiplying the sensations.

She writhed with pleasure as his hard thrusts made her build, but the gentleness of his manipulations made it possible for her to sustain without spending. Tony now realized his sexual experience with the women of his past was
what made him a superb lover. She was the lucky one who would reap the benefit of a long and varied sex life. His intimate knowledge of female sexuality gave him more finesse than other men. Thank God he had initiated her. He had taught her well. Taught her to yield, to give endlessly, to her last shuddering tremor. Taught her to take, to demand, to drain him to his last delicious drop.

Adam did not withdraw but towered above her, savoring her shivers, worshiping her with his eyes. By God, she was so much woman, she’d have him staggering on his legs by dawn. Whenever they were alone together they were so aroused that they always had to make sex before they could make love. The amazing thing was that they enjoyed both equally. Usually the male preferred sex, the female love. This couple was different. They gave vent to their darker passions. His animalism brought out her carnality. Her natural eroticism brought out his unquenchable sexual appetite. They gloried equally in lovemaking, kissing, touching, stroking, whispering, embracing, molding, caressing, fusing, nestling, melting, brushing, murmuring, hour after languorous hour. The fury of their storm was spent in the first hour. Their slow, serious act of love lasted two more hours.

At last Adam was ready to talk. Their intimacy was almost complete. They had never been closer or more attuned in body and spirit than they were at this moment. He lay supine. She sat straddling him with her silken thighs. It was Adam’s favorite position for talking. His gaze could caress her hair, her mouth, her breasts, while the back of his fingers could stroke the inside of her long, slim thighs.

“I took you to those terrible places yesterday so that you would understand what drives me. When poverty killed my father I was powerless to do anything about it. I loathed being powerless and vowed to accumulate enough wealth to allow me to fight London’s poverty.” He grimaced. “I’m afraid I blackened my soul in my relentless
pursuit of wealth, so now I occasionally try to redeem myself.”

“Your speech in the House today did that,” she said softly. “The Child Labor Act alone will guarantee your ticket into Heaven.”

“Holy Mary, sometimes I think you are too innocent for me after all.”

Her eyes met his, “Meaning?”

“I know I’m a cynical swine, but we are a society of barbarians. Child labor laws likely won’t be passed for another twenty or thirty years.”

Antonia’s face fell in disappointment, her shoulders drooped in defeat.

He held out his arms. “Come to me.”

She nestled beside him and he drew up the covers about them. He took hold of her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “It’s a never-ending battle and I need your help. I love you, and that works out just perfectly for me because I need a chatelaine and hostess for Edenwood. I realize it’s a bit of a comedown, but would you consider swapping your English title for an Irish one?”

She held her breath in disbelief. Had he actually asked her to marry him?

“Lady Blackwater.” She tested the sound of it. She closed her eyes and offered up a prayer of thanks, weak with relief. When she opened them he was looking at her intensely, his ice-blue eyes compelling her to answer him. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips. Did he really think she might refuse him?

He stiffened at the sound of her laughter. “Perhaps Edenwood is too ostentatious for you.” He swept her with a look of cold contempt.

Antonia drew up her knees and began rolling about with laughter. She had just had a revelation about the man she adored. That familiar look of icy contempt was a protective mask! The mighty Adam Savage was vulnerable,
especially where she was concerned. The thought thrilled her to her fingertips.

Tony sat up and leaned over him. She was so close, she could see herself reflected in his dark blue pupils. “You haven’t the vaguest notion how long I’ve wanted you for my husband.”

His natural arrogance returned instantly. “How long?” he demanded.

“Since that first night you tried to make a man of me and made me spew on brandy and cigars.”

“You are such a romantic.”

“No, I lie. I wanted you for my husband before I ever met you.”

His brows drew together.

Tony smiled into his eyes. “It was when I first laid eyes on your ostentatious Edenwood. As a matter of fact I was the one who made it ostentatious. I must have had a premonition it would be mine someday. I talked Mr. Wyatt into all sorts of expensive improvements that must have cost the earth.”

“Such as?” Adam demanded, his words dropping like icicles.

“Mmm, let me think,” she said, tracing her finger along his top lip. “I suggested he extend the west portico into a terrace and instead of using Norfolk stone I persuaded him to import veined Italian marble.”

“How did you persuade him?” Adam again demanded.

“Oh, it was easy, he was half in love with me. I decided we should have a conservatory, and in the bathing room I suggested the wall of Venetian mirrors and the hand-painted tiles.” She took her finger from his lip and replaced it with her mouth.

He immediately lifted her hips so that she lay full on top of him. “I have fantasies about you and me in that bathing room. I’ll bet bloody Wyatt had a few too.”

“James and I enjoyed fabulous intercourse,” she punned. She felt him lengthen and harden against her
thigh and moved her body lower to capture him between her legs. “He explained to me about power houses and I believe it was at that point I decided to spend just a little more.”

“A little more?” His eyes narrowed in warning.

“Mmm, yes, please,” she said, rubbing her mons across the throbbing head of his erection.

“You are a wicked little bitch.” He reached down to cup her buttocks, then kneaded them firmly, molding her against his shaft and his heavy sac.

“I told him to let Adams carve the fireplaces and Verrio paint your ceilings. Ah, yes, I also suggested he use four-teen-carat gold on the giltwork. Oh, dear, did that cost a lot more?” she asked innocently.

“A lot more,” he confirmed.

“Mmm, yes please, I thought you’d never ask!”

“You’re insatiable. Tony, I’m trying to be serious.”

“Mmm, I can feel that you are, my lord.”

“I haven’t finished talking. We have a lot of things to settle,” he said firmly.

Suddenly she surged up onto her knees and impaled herself upon him. “You talk. I’ll keep you hard, no matter how long it takes.”

Their bodies were musky from too much lovemaking, yet still she knew how to keep him hot and hungry for her. He lifted her off his jutting erection. “Listen to me, damn you. You cannot fuck and listen at the same time.”

Tony exulted in the power she had over him. She marveled at the fact that she had feared him in the beginning. In the early days she had been desperate for his approval. Now that he had asked her to marry, she was utterly sure of him. Every vestige of apprehension had vanished.

“We cannot marry for a few months.” His words hit her like a bucket of cold water, dissolving all her fine self-confidence.

Her lips formed the word
why
but she couldn’t utter it because they began to tremble.

“I must return to Ceylon. There are certain matters I have to settle, certain things I must take care of. The moment I return, we’ll be married.”