Page 56 of Dare to Love a Duke
“The longing for home never quite goes away,” Lucia murmured. Her gaze was down-turned and faraway.
“That, it doesn’t.” The need to take her hand in his and offer her comfort burned strongly, but he couldn’t be so forward in front of the other staff.
“And you?” he asked Rose.
“Ardcath,” she said. “But the farming life wasn’t for me, and I wanted far away, so I came to London.”
“I heard that you Irish make the best storytellers,” one of the men said. “Can’t trust a word out of your mouths.”
Tom stilled, and he heard Lucia’s quick intake of breath.
“Arthur,” she said in a warning tone.
As anger pushed along his limbs, Tom’s hands curled into fists beneath the table.
Though it had been spoken in jest, Arthur had just called Tom a liar. Jibes about his Irish blood rose up from time to time, like sores, and he’d brawled often at Harrow and Oxford for lesser slights.
But this was Lucia’s place of employment. He could swallow his anger—for her.
After a moment, he exhaled slowly. “Might I say that you are indeed extraordinarily handsome.”
There was a long pause, and then everyone at the table laughed at the joke. Lucia chuckled, too, but Tom could hear the relief in her laughter.
He kept himself from starting in surprise when he felt her hand curve around his beneath the table. At her touch, tension eased from him.
The rest of the meal passed quickly as talk flowed with the ease of colleagues who had seen just about everything. He found his food going undisturbed as he watched Lucia laugh and gossip, color high in her cheeks and her dark eyes bright. She was called upon to mediate a friendly dispute between two of the serving women, and her opinion was solicited when one of the male staff asked about the best gift to give a sweetheart. She even loaned the chap a few coins so he might buy a proper bouquet of flowers rather than pluck a lone blossom from someone’s yard.
Lucia had spoken of being far from home, and yetthiswas her home, amidst the boisterous camaraderie and controlled pandemonium beneath the Orchid Club. Whatever her grim thoughts on romantic love, what she felt for her staff and friends was pure and generous.
Conversation quieted as she checked her timepiece. “We’ve thirty minutes until the doors open. Time for a quince tart, and then it’s off to work.”
Everyone quickly downed the final bites of their meal before rising and hurrying to see to final remaining duties.
“Come with me,” she said to Tom as he stood.
Another kick of nervousness hit him as he wordlessly followed her back upstairs and into the foyer.
“The front door’s our responsibility for the next hour,” she said. She held up a purse. “You know our knock and the watchwords, but remember that the admittance fee is variable.”
“Guests pay what they can afford. A good policy. Ensures everyone has access to pleasure.”
She smiled at him and brightness spread through him at the sight. “Glad you see what makes the Orchid Club so special.” Her expression grew serious, and she picked up a dark blue mask from a nearby table. “Let us don our armor.”
With the look of a knight riding into battle, she tied the ribbons behind her head and adjusted the fit. Lucia was Amina once more.
His body reacted at once, growing tight. This was how he’d first seen her, how she’d carved a place within him. A lifetime would pass before the image of her in her mask could fail to move him.
“Do you have a mask?” she asked, clearly unaware of his thoughts. “We have spares for whoever forgets one.”
“Brought one from home.” Shouldering aside his instinctive response to her, he pulled a black mask from his coat and affixed it in place.
Her eyes darkened as she beheld him, filling him with pleasure that he wasn’t alone in this desire. They stared at each other for long moments, poised on the brink of doing something very, very foolish.
The special knock sounded at the door. He and Lucia broke the bond of their gazes as they went to admit the night’s first guest.
The next hour passed in a whirl. Tom and Lucia met guests at the door, took their money, and explained the rules of the house to any newcomers who did not show them the token. All the while, he felt Lucia’s attention on him, carefully observing as he interacted with the scores of people that passed across the establishment’s threshold.
When a hesitant series of taps heralded another guest, Lucia stepped back to let Tom admit them. A woman with graying hair timorously stepped inside, her slender fingers fidgeting with her mask. She exchanged the watchwords with him, all the while, her gaze darted around the foyer like a frightened mouse.
