Page 59 of An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
“I assure you, I have not. I would cross over and take you in my arms this very minute except it would mean you’d arrive rather disheveled, possibly with all your clothing pooled on the floor.”
She’d never heard such need, such desire woven through a voice. It pleased her no end. With him, she had a feeling she might live up to her reputation of being notorious. “I thought you a man of discipline.”
“Not where you’re concerned, apparently.”
She watched as the shadowy outline of him moved forward. “Make no mistake, Tillie, I want you in my bed. But tonight is the result of a wager won, not a condition met. I’m not going to take advantage of it.” He shrugged. “Not entirely. I have your company and for now that is enough.”
If she was a silly eighteen-year-old girl who had just come to London, she might think he was courting her, wooing her, striving to win her over with a slow seduction. Their arrangement gave him what he wanted—what she wanted as well if she were honest. All he had to do was take it. That he wasn’t caused something inside of her to ache in a way most welcome. When she was twelve, she’d fallen from her horse, broken her arm. The pain had been immediate, sharp, unbearable. Like her divorce from Downie. But as she’d begun to test it, she’d experienced an ache that had felt remarkably good because it had signaled a healing.
She rather felt that way now, as though her cracked and splintered heart was being granted hope of a healing.
Before she could give the matter any further thought, the carriage came to a halt. Thank God, as she didn’t want to explore these unwanted feelings and sensations. She was not letting the man get anywhere near her heart.
The door opened. Rexton disembarked, then handed her down. They both wore gloves. She wished they didn’t.
The glow from the streetlamps revealed a monstrously large but relatively plain brick building. An enormous sign proclaimed Durham Amusements.
Such an innocuous name for the sort of wicked amusements she suspected were housed in a place on the outskirts of the city. Although she saw no one else about, it was obviously opened to customers this time of night. She imagined peep shows, orgies, decadence, and other sinful activities. Rexton’s secrets: he dabbled in the pornographic.
He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
She should emphatically state “No!” She should return to the carriage, make clear she didn’t approve of such debauchery. But her curiosity got the better of her. She’d heard whispers about these places, had overheard Downie speaking with his friends about them. Rexton couldn’t force her to participate, but to have a look, to confirm the goings-on was tempting beyond measure, could prove interesting and educational. A woman was wise to be as informed as possible, something she’d learned a bit too late. With her knowledge, she could write a letter to theTimes, alert the constabulary. Perhaps she could bring about some good.
With a jerky nod, she placed her hand on his arm. “I’m not familiar with this place.”
“Few people are. It took considerable research on my part to find it.”
He began leading her toward the massive door. Two doors actually, and she imagined the dissolute streaming in during the late hours for surely this sort of decadence only occurred after good folk were abed. “Do you come here often?”
“Every couple of weeks. I’m fascinated by what transpires inside.”
She wished she didn’t know this about him, didn’t want the details of his life to sully her opinion of him. It was always impossible to know everything about a person. How could she ensure Gina didn’t end up with a man of perversions?
He rapped loudly on the door. Waited. Laid his hand protectively over hers where it rested on his arm as though he sensed it—along with her—might take flight.
Finally a tall, burly man opened it. His thick brown beard hid most of his smile. “My lord.”
“Mr. Durham, I do appreciate your making special arrangements to be open to us tonight.”
“The blunt you paid me, my lord, ensures I’ll open anytime you so wish.”
Was he paying for private entertainments? If so, she didn’t have to worry about being spotted or recognized.
“Allow me to introduce my friend Miss Tillie,” Rexton said.
She appreciated the fact he was giving her some anonymity, that she would be able to deny ever being within the walls of this audacious establishment.
Mr. Durham touched two fingers to his brow. “Welcome, miss. Do come in.”
He stepped back.
With a deep breath and steeling herself against the naughty sights that might greet her, Tillie launched herself over the threshold and came up short as the fragrance of freshly hewn wood and newly applied paint assailed her nostrils, not unpleasantly so, but definitely overwhelmingly so. Not surprising as sawdust and wood shavings littered the floor. The cavernous structure was a woodworking workshop. No more than that.
In the far left corner was a gloriously beautiful carousel with an elaborate canopy that she could only describe as a work of art. The horses, in different colors and various poses, were lined up along the circular platform. She couldn’t imagine the amount of time, effort, and dedication that had gone into making something so exquisite.
“You make roundabouts,” she said in awe, abashed and pleased that the expected nefarious undertaking had turned out to be something that brought naught but delight into lives.
“Indeed we do, miss. Would you care to see the one we’re crafting for his Lordship?”
