Page 43 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
“Not often I get paid double in advance of the journey.”
Her earlier outing had included a visit to the bank in which she had an account where a small bit of money from a trust her father had set up for her was deposited each month—so she had some spending money. Most of the monthly allotment went to the duke so he could oversee her needs without causing a burden to his own family. When she married, it would go to her husband. If she were unmarried at twenty-five, it would all begin coming to her. Until last night she’d never contemplated the final option. But now it loomed clear and welcome.
As she placed her hand in the one the driver extended to her, a quiver of foreboding shimmied through her. If she was going to change her mind, now was the time to do it. Instead, she took a deep breath, climbed up and settled onto the seat. The door closed with a rather loud snap that gave her a little start.
“Where to, miss?”
She gave him the address.
“I’ll have you there in a thrice.” The driver climbed up. The horse took off.
She pulled the hood of her pelisse up over her head, not that she thought where she was going anyone would recognize her, but it seemed the sort of thing a lady traveling alone should do: hide her identity as much as possible. A lady going about without a chaperone was no lady at all.
A chill hung in the air, or perhaps it was simply fear making her bones cold. All the responsibility rested with her, weighed on her. What if she’d judged Mick incorrectly, what if he was exactly the sort of rapscallion the duchess had warned her about, a man who would take advantage of a woman alone? With two sisters, how could he be? How could he look them in the eye if he treated another woman poorly?
It was nearing eleven. Few people were out but more than she expected wandered about. She’d often returned from a ball late at night but never given any heed to what was going on around her. Now she wondered who these people were. Why were they not abed? What entertainments did they find?
She saw the hotel long before they reached it. It stood out like a talisman. The carriage came to a halt, and she realized she had one more chance to change her mind, to instruct him to carry on, to take her home. Instead, when he opened the door, she allowed him to hand her down.
“I’ll wait till yer safely inside.”
She wasn’t quite sure she was going to be any safer inside than out here, but appreciated the sentiment. Marching up the steps, she saw the red-clad porter who was standing outside the double glass doors straighten his spine and touch his finger to his top hat. “Miss.”
As long as she could remember, she’d been addressed as “my lady.” No doubt the term had followed her into the crib. It was odd to have two gentlemen not refer to her as such, but then proper young ladies weren’t expected to be skulking about at all hours of the night.
“I’m here to see Mr. Trewlove.” It suddenly occurred to her that it was very likely he wasn’t in residence. In which case it would turn out to be a good thing the hansom driver had remained.
“Top floor, miss.” He pulled open one of the doors.
“He’s in?” An inane thing to ask at that moment since he certainly wouldn’t have provided entry if the person she was seeking wasn’t about.
“Aye.”
Giving a nod, she glanced back at the hansom and the driver waiting patiently. “Will you wait twenty minutes? I’ll pay you for your time.” Her visit shouldn’t take any longer than that.
“My pleasure, miss. And don’t you be worrying about the additional fee. You’ve more than covered my time already.”
“Thank you!” With a little wave, she turned back and strolled inside.
A man stood behind the desk where guests received the keys to their rooms. “Evening, miss.”
“I’m here to see Mr. Trewlove.” At this rate all of London was going to know she was here and who she’d come to visit. She really hadn’t given this part of her plan adequate thought. Obviously organizing clandestine meetings wasn’t her forte.
She started up the sweeping staircase and climbed, climbed, climbed until there were no more red-carpeted steps, only a long hallway with several closed wooden doors and one glass one. Etched in the glass wasTrewlove. As it was nearest to her, and she could see a light shining from within the depths beyond, she decided to start there.
The door silently opened into a sitting area with a large desk where she suspected Mr. Tittlefitz worked while people waited to have an audience with Mick. She assumed that was the owner’s office farther inside. The door was open. She crept toward it—
He sat behind a desk of dark wood, almost ebony in color, twice the size of Tittlefitz’s. He wore no jacket or waistcoat or cravat. The buttons at his throat were undone, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up past his elbows as though he were in the thick of laboring. His hair curled in disarray. Little bits of shadow just above and below his beard hinted he had not shaved recently. He seemed rough, dangerous, a product of his origins. Her mind betrayed her with the thought that she’d never seen anyone look so marvelously masculine and alluring.
He was reading from a stack of papers, occasionally scratching a pen over the parchment. The sight of him did funny things to her insides, as though a thousand butterflies were fluttering around. He went to dip his pen into the inkwell, paused, lifted his head, pierced her with his blue gaze, and it was like the one time she’d dared to climb a tree, fallen from her perch and hit the ground hard. She struggled to draw in breath, thought it would forever be denied to her—and then it swooshed back in with a sweet, delicious ache.
Slowly, so slowly that his movements were almost imperceptible, he set down his pen and came to his feet. “Lady Aslyn.”
His voice was raw, as though he’d not had anything to drink in a century, although there was a glass of amber liquid on his desk, near the edge of the papers, within easy reach. Perhaps whatever he’d been sipping had burned his throat.
“Mr. Trewlove.”
He darted a glance toward the windows as though to confirm it was still night beyond these walls. His gaze came back to her. “How might I be of service?”
