Page 12 of A Courtesan Countess Worth the Scandal
Chuckling gruffly, Denninson picked Carlton up as though he were a child and practically tossed him into the carriage, where he curled up on the squabs and promptly fell asleep. Liam and Denninson climbed in after, the two of them wedged onto one squab while Carlton took up most of the other.
As the driver snapped the reins and the carriage pulled away from the gentlemen’s club, Denninson gave Liam a pointed look.
“Why did you do it? Do not mistake me, I think it noble, but it is… unlike you,” he said.
Liam shrugged, and turned his gaze out the window as London trundled by. “Honestly, Denninson, I am still trying to figure that out.”
Chapter Five
Shortly after midnight, and leaving the sound and smoke of the evening’s revels and conflicts far behind her, the hackney cab arrived outside Nora’s townhouse. She never used a carriage of her own, for the sake of maintaining her anonymity. Or, at least, the secrecy of her home. Her private sanctum, where she did not have to be Nora Black, the famed coquette. Here, she was simply a daughter and a sister.
Ma waited up again.
Nora could see the lamplight glowing from the drawing room on the lower floor. She sighed, wishing her mother would not do that. Not because she did not enjoy her mother’s company, but because she worried for the older woman’s health.
“She will not like what I have to say tonight,” Nora murmured.
Taking a deep breath, she exited the hackney and crossed the street to the front steps of home. Turning her key in the lock—an extra measure of security that she had installed in the townhouse, after an unpleasant interaction with an old client—she let herself into the entrance hall.
A moment after the door had been locked back into place, her mother poked her head out of the drawing room. “You’re back early. I thought I’d have at least a few more hours of dozing before you came home.”
“You sound like you wish I’d stayed away.” Nora smiled and padded wearily across the foyer, to put her arms around her mother. “You didn’t let Lily wait with you, did you?”
Her mother gave her a playful smack. “‘Course I didn’t. What sort of Ma do you take me for? She had her supper, listened to Mrs. Moston play the piano, and went off to bed, good as anythin’.”
“Is Mrs. Moston still awake?” Nora bent down to take off her shoes, her toes cracking and stretching in sweet relief at being allowed their freedom.
Her mother nodded. “Aye, d’you want her to cook you somethin’ or is it a drink you’re after?”
Worry flickered in the older woman’s eyes as she looked over her daughter’s face, visibly trying to figure out if it had been a usual night or a painful night for Nora. The painful ones were fewer and further between, now that she had perfected the art of leading her clients a merry dance. But they still happened. Usually, when she let her guard down, as she had done that evening.
What would’ve happened if it weren’t for Lord Keswick?
She dreaded to think, but she was fairly sure her mother would have been looking at a bruised face and a split lip. As for the wounds her mother would not have been able to see; they would have left another mark on her heart, to add to the agonizing tally, and snipped another thread of her already frayed nerves.
“I just wanted to see if I could get some bread and jam,” Nora assured, before adding, in a quiet voice, “and maybe a small tipple of whisky to wash it down.”
Her mother pursed her lips. “Are we celebratin’ with that whisky or commiseratin’?”
“A touch of both,” Nora replied.
Her mother nodded. “Aye, well, I’ll go and ask her now before she falls asleep on the work bench.”
As her mother walked away, toward the kitchen, Nora shuffled into the drawing room and sank down into one of the leather armchairs by the fireplace. There, she gazed into the flames, wondering how she was going to tell her mother what had been playing on her mind? After many years in the business of seduction, she hoped her mother might be ready to encourage retirement.
“Nora? Is that you?” a quiet voice startled her from her reverie.
Abruptly, Nora got back to her feet and hurried over to the young girl who had appeared in the drawing room doorway. “You’re supposed to be in bed, you naughty imp,” she said brightly, for she never spurned the opportunity to see her little sister. “Have you been waiting for me?”
Lily grinned, her milky, sightless eyes angled up at Nora’s shoulder. “Ma doesn’t know, so you mustn’t tell her.”
“Do you want me to sneak you up some bread and jam when I go to bed?” Nora offered. She took Lily’s hand and placed it to her cheek, marveling in the way her small fingertips could make an image from the shapes and textures and contours of her face.
Lily nodded effusively. “Yes, please. Mrs. Moston gave me watercress soup for my supper again. It tastes like grass, and no one can convince me otherwise.”
“It’s good for you.” Nora chuckled, covering her sister’s hand with hers.
Lily pulled a face. “Will it make me see again?”
