Page 57 of Dare to Love a Duke
“This is your first time here, aye?” Tom asked.
The woman nodded and audibly swallowed. “I promised myself I would come after my year of mourning was over.”
He offered her a gentle smile. “A lovely indulgence, and one you surely deserve. Remember, everything that transpires within is voluntary. There’s naught you have to do if you aren’t inclined to. If, at any time, you feel at all uneasy, find me or someone else on staff. We’re here to ensure your comfort, security, and enjoyment.”
The widow nodded, her shoulders straightening. “Thank you.”
Tom took her hand in his and bowed over it. “Entirely my pleasure.”
As the woman headed back toward the drawing room, Lucia drew close. “Beautifully done,” she said admiringly. “We’ve had newcomers turn and flee after taking two steps past the door.”
“A bit of reassurance was all she needed. She’ll find her way.”
They looked at each other, her approval warming him. Their breath aligned, and he fought to keep from tracing his finger along the sleek line of her neck so he might feel the soft heat of her skin.
Her pupils widened and she wet her lips.
“I’m here to relieve you.” Elspeth’s voice broke the spell.
Lucia put several steps between herself and him, and it was like taking air from his lungs. In the voice he’d come to think of as the Manager, she said, “Please go down to the kitchen and make certain there are no problems. Ask Jenny if she needs anything.”
He nodded before striding off to fulfill her request, eager for a task to clear his head. Belowstairs, he found the cook bent over a tray of cakes, carefully piping little icing flowers onto each one.
“You’re an artist,” he said in amazement.
She blew a lock of hair off her forehead. “Wasted effort, if you ask me. People come here to fuck, not to marvel over sweetmeats.”
“True. But I’d wager they wouldn’t have much interest in fucking if you gave them substandard food.” He nodded sagely. “Can’t swive anyone properly on an empty stomach.”
One of the assistants giggled. “If I was the sort who had time for embroidery, I’d put that on a pillow.” The girl immediately got back to work when the cook shot her an irate scowl.
“Are you well provisioned?” Tom asked Jenny. “I’m at your service, should you require anything.”
“We’ve everything we need for tonight. Lucia makes certain of that.” She adjusted the placement of cake slices on a platter. Quick as an adder, she slapped Tom’s hand as he reached for a piece. “Lemon cake’s for guests, not thieving lads.”
“Such cruelty,” he said with a smile.
“Get on with that rogue’s grin of yours.” She waved him toward the door.
He edged around two servers bearing empty platters, and headed back upstairs.
The evening was in full swing, with guests abandoning themselves to the pursuit of pleasure. Several of them milled around the stage, awaiting the performances. Tom exchanged nods with the two burly men who served as muscle, including the one who’d called him a liar. He breathed around the flare of anger that wanted to grow into resentment. Instead, he winked at the serving woman from Ireland. She gave him a saucy wink in return.
They were all working together, laboring to keep the establishment running smoothly. This sense of fellowship was entirely absent from the House of Lords, and even at White’s, the members concerned themselves only with their own needs and gratification.
It was... strange. Oddly wonderful.
This was no cure for worries over alliances and the fate not only of his family but of the nation itself. Nothing went away. He never forgot who he was or what responsibilities weighed on him. And yet he could lose himself in the movement of straightforward work, and the camaraderie that came from truly putting one’s back into a shared enterprise.
He had no answers for the questions and doubts that plagued him. They might come... or they might not. For now, he was here, with the staff of the Orchid Club, laboring to make the night a success.
He found Lucia keeping an eye on the ballroom, and went to her as though drawn by unseen threads that tied them together. She always pulled him toward her.
“Happy to report that the kitchen is a smooth-sailing ship,” he said brightly. “Though your cook chased me away from a piece of lemon cake.”
Lucia patted his arm. “Should you discharge your duties well, I’ll make certain you get cake.”
“Bloody right, I will.” He affected a brooding glower, a contrast to the pleasure he found in being lighthearted with her. “My sweet tooth is a fearsome thing, and it will not be denied.”
