Page 11 of What the Lady Wants
‘Oh no!’ replied Isabella swiftly. ‘I wouldn’t want that. It would hardly be fair to Gabriel. And I’d rather he didn’t know! I’m sorry to ask you to keep a secret from him, it’s very bad of me, but I hope you can see why. It might distress him, and I wouldn’t want that after he’s been so good to me always.’
‘Of course!’ Georgiana hastened to reassure her. ‘I promise I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to, though I don’t think he’d disapprove. He’s not a hypocrite or one of those tedious people who think men should be allowed to do everything they want and women nothing at all. He was a rake, and I suppose rakes must rather count on women having desires too, or however would they manage? But I can quite see why you feel uneasy… Your late husband’s brother.’
‘Exactly. I had thought that there must be places one can hire, couples can, I mean, for a short time…’
Georgiana shuddered slightly. ‘I expect there are. Can you imagine what they must be like?’
‘I keep thinking about fleas,’ said Isabella hollowly.
‘Fleas would be the least of it, I should think. You need… I know what you need!’
‘You do?’
‘Yes! You need a place that’s safe, definitely without fleas, where you can go and be private and nobody will take the least notice of you, or think to blackmail you or threaten you.’
‘That sounds impossible.’
‘But it isn’t! I know just the place, and I can tell you exactly how to go on there!’
10
The very next evening, Lady Ashby sat in the Duchess of Northriding’s elegant black and silver carriage, feeling ridiculously nervous. She was wearing an anonymous sort of a dark cloak, and a loo mask, which she had concealed in her reticule until she was alone in the vehicle and then put on with hands that shook slightly. She wassupposedto be going to Mauleverer House to spend the evening in quiet conversation with Georgiana; Blanche had been touchingly pleased that her two sisters-in-law were growing so close and had not blinked when Isabella had said that she might be back in the early hours of the morning. She’d be late herself, she said, since she and Eleanor were going to the theatre and on to a supper party afterwards. Enjoy yourself, she had said, and Isabella, feeling hideously guilty, had murmured the same. She hoped they all would. Enjoy themselves.
She wasn’t going to Mauleverer House. She was going to what had been described to her as a respectable-seeming townhouse in a fashionable street quite close by, where Captain Winterton would be waiting for her outside, according to instructions she had whispered urgently to him when walkingin the park that morning. In her reticule, she had acarte de visitethat Georgiana had passed to her, but it was a card with a difference. It was printed on heavy, creamy rag paper, and it bore no name or title, just an address, and a printed picture of a black mask very much like the one she was wearing. It, and a handful of guineas passed discreetly to the servant on the door, would be enough to gain admission, the Duchess had assured her. She had described the place and what went on there, and after her initial shock Isabella had admitted that it sounded perfect. Terrifying, but perfect. There were private rooms that could be locked, she had been told, and nobody would disturb them. Nobody would know who they were, no names would be asked for or given, and if they should happen to recognise any of the masked fellow guests – which was unlikely since they did not mean to linger in the public salons, which were not for the faint-hearted, she had been warned – why, they had as much to lose as she did. More, possibly. And Georgie had assured her repeatedly that there wouldn’t be any fleas.
The carriage drew to a halt, and Isabella gulped and jumped nervously when the footman – the very discreet Mauleverer footman in black and silver – opened the door and let down the steps for her, his face quite expressionless. She had been hesitant at first in accepting Georgiana’s offer of her carriage for the evening. ‘What if it is seen and identified as yours?’ she had said worriedly.
The Duchess had smiled in a feline manner and replied, ‘How do you think I know about the place?’ This had silenced Isabella quite effectively, and she understood then the full nature of the favour that her sister-in-law was doing her; if the carriage was seen, everybody would assume that the occupants were the scandalous Duke and his bride, who was known to be entirely in his thrall in a thrillingly wicked sort of a way. Georgiana had saidthat it was just the place, and just the occasion, and on reflection, Isabella could see that she might well be right.
As long as the Captain was there waiting for her. She didn’t know what she’d do if he wasn’t.
She got down, and scanned the street anxiously, her heart pounding. But hewasthere, already masked, standing a few paces away, and he stepped forward to greet her. Isabella hurriedly fumbled in her reticule to take out the card and give it to him. She supposed the footman climbed up into his place on the box beside the coachman and they drove away; she wasn’t paying attention. Leo looked down at her and she saw the gleam of his eyes, if not their colour, by the light of one of the new gas-lamps. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he said in a low voice. ‘It is not too late to change your mind, if you should have qualms.’
‘Yes,’ she answered firmly. ‘Yes, I am sure. Let us go in.’
The Captain managed things well, though she was reasonably sure he was not an habitué of such places. His hand went out and slipped something into the palm of the tall, imposing man who stood on the doorstep with an air of discreet watchfulness. It was all so neatly done that she would hardly have noticed it if she had not been looking. And then they were inside.
Isabella did not know what she had been expecting, despite Georgiana’s description – somewhere that, inside, looked obviously depraved, she supposed, though she wasn’t entirely sure exactly what form this depravity would take. Depraved… furniture? Paintings? Statues? Worse somehow than the ordinary paintings and statues of semi-naked or entirely naked deities and mythological personages that decorated most of the mansions of the ton? Anatomically correct statues of the male form, perhaps, because she had noticed that they generallyweren’t… Her mind was flitting from one thought to another in a nervous fashion. Her mouth was dry.
She knew, because of Georgiana’s warning, that in the public salons other guests, if that was the correct word, would be doing things that most people would not countenance even if they were done in private. Sinful things. But she and the Captain weren’t intending to go into the public salons, and out here in the hall, at least, it appeared to be a perfectly normal London house belonging to someone of rank and fortune. There were walls, with elegant wallpaper. There was a floor. Obviously. There were candles in sconces of classical design. It was, in fact, not at all unlike Lady Blanche’s home. Perhaps slightly bigger and more sumptuously decorated. Isabella was, if she was honest, rather disappointed at how very ordinary it all was. The Captain must be feeling the same sense of anti-climax, for she heard him murmur by her ear, ‘I’ll swear my Aunt Mary had that exact same striped wallpaper. It doesn’t seem right, somehow.’
There was a small private room leading off the hall; Georgiana had described its location with exactitude. They opened its door and found it empty, providentially, but then it was still quite early. Georgiana, who really was extraordinarily well-informed, had advised her what time was best to arrive. They entered the room, and she locked the door, but left the key in the lock. And then she turned to look at him, her heart pounding.
11
NUMBER FOUR AND NUMBER FIVE
Leo had never been so full of nervous anticipation in his life. He wasn’t, if he were honest, a man of any great sexual experience. He’d done quite a lot of kissing and mutual exploring with a slightly older neighbour when he was young, just before he’d gone to sea, experiences which he remembered with enormous fondness. His companion in pleasurable discovery – in some respects his teacher, for she had been from the outset far surer than he of what she wanted – was now a married woman of thirty with a parcel of children of her own, and he hoped she was happy.
There were many and varied opportunities offered to a sailor in every port, of course, not to mention on board ship, if one were so inclined, which he wasn’t. But then again, a large proportion of those opportunities were of a frankly terrifying nature, for anyone who valued his health and his self-respect. He had heard of a perilous game rich, bored gentlemen played, a series of wildly irresponsible dares involving loaded pistols, though he didn’t know if it was anything more than a rumour, and dallying with pox-ridden dockside whores struck him as even more dangerous. At least a bullet was quick. Naturally,he had indulged his sexual impulses sometimes, in places that seemed safer – he was only human, and he’d spent his whole adult life and half his boyhood in the navy – but he had done so prudently, always. That was something he should tell her, probably, Isabella; that he had always been careful to be safe, and he would, if things progressed in that direction, which it seemed they would, continue to do so. He would protect her. He didn’t suppose she would be any more eager to risk pregnancy than he was, even if no other kind of risk had ever crossed her mind.
He didn’t believe that the danger of parenthood, at least, was something he need worry about tonight. He imagined that there were a few items at least on her list before they came to that point. He thought too that he had a shrewd idea of what number six was, and she’d alluded to four, though he had no idea about five. It made him nervous, therefore, but it was also still damnably exciting. He’d probably be considerably less anxious if he didn’t care about her so much. Of course he would. But he pushed that thought away since it led nowhere but to painful places. Dwell on the excitement. Dwell on making it – whateveritwas – as wonderful for her as possible. He wanted to do that.
She locked the door of the dark, intimate little room and turned to look up at him, unfastening her cloak and throwing it aside without any apparent regard for where it landed. She licked her lips, involuntarily, it seemed to him, rather than in any deliberate attempt to tantalise him. Though it did. So, she was anxious too. It made him feel better somehow, made him all the more aware of the arousal that hummed in his blood, in every inch of his body, and set his head spinning. He said, and he had to clear his throat to say it, ‘What do you…? May I kiss you? First?’ Was that wrong? Were they perhaps not going to do that again, now she’d crossed it off? That would be a shame, for him at least.
But she said, ‘Yes!’ and then she was in his arms, as eager as he was, apparently. They’d done this before and they knew they liked it. They were on solid ground. His tongue brushed hers and hers came to meet it; they held each other tightly, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle, and gave licence to their mutual hunger. In the quiet room, there were little inarticulate murmurs of pleasure, and soft gasps that could have come from either of them. All thoughts, all worries about the future left him, submerged in the rush of pure sensation as their mouths devoured each other.
When he came back to himself, his hands were on her buttocks – that was new – squeezing her soft, abundant flesh, lifting her off her feet, pulling her as close as she could be. This was one of the many, many things he’d dreamed about doing, and it was even better than he’d imagined.
