Page 38 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“I’d rather have been doing that. Instead I discovered my head barman and cook in the cellar stores. Roger had told me that he was smitten. I just hadn’t realized it was with Hannah. They sounded as though they were having a jolly good time, and I couldn’t bring myself to disturb them. It was rather awkward when they finally emerged from their tryst.”
“Getting caught usually is.”
“So you’ve been caught before?”
“In my youth when I was bit more... randy and a lot more reckless.”
“Do you have any by-blows?”
“No. I was never careless in that regard.”
“I’m glad.”
So was he. While he’d taken precautions because he hadn’t wanted the responsibility of children born out of wedlock, he couldn’t help but feel now that his actions had raised his esteem in her eyes. Strange how he didn’t want her to find him lacking, but how could she not when he hadn’t been able to hold onto his bride?
Chapter 11
She’d ridden in her brother’s coach on several occasions, but it was very different when traveling with a gent to whom she was not related. His legs were a bit longer than Mick’s and he’d spread them slightly so her booted feet rested between his, the way a man’s body might nestle between a woman’s. She might have never experienced that sort of coupling, but she wasn’t so naïve as to not know how procreation worked. Her mum had taught her early about what went on between men and women so she would know if a fellow was striving to get her into a position where she might find herself in danger of getting with child. Ettie Trewlove was of the belief that many girls found themselves in the family way simply because they’d been too ignorant regarding the act that led to the condition.
“If girls were educated about fornication instead of stitchery, people like me might not be needed,” she’d lamented.
Not that Gillie ever regretted being taken to the baby farmer’s door. Her life had not turned out so poorly. She’d learned her letters and numbers at the ragged school, attended the full four years that were permitted. It had been with a bit of sadness that she’d celebrated her eleventh year, knowing it would be her last at the school. Her mum had explained the need that they continue learning, so she and her brothers had pooled their earnings until they had a guinea to pay yearly to a lending library. Through the books they’d borrowed, they’d discovered a lot about the world and people. And they’d learned so many marvelous words, even though sometimes they had a time of it finding someone who could tell them what the word meant. But someone at the lending library usually knew. Most of the people with whom she communicated each day didn’t use big, fancy words, but because she at least knew a host of them, she didn’t feel out of her element speaking with Thorne. Even if her enunciation didn’t carry a haughty accent, she could hold her own in a conversation with him. Which had led her to a unique opportunity. Not every woman was given the chance to travel in a coach with a duke. Especially one who smelled so lovely.
No odor of blood mingled with his tart scent as it wafted around her, teasing her nostrils. With the rocking of the vehicle, the shadows moved over him. Whenever they gave way to light, she would catch a glimpse of him watching her. She’d fetched her cloak because she’d expected the evening to be chilly, but he seemed to generate warmth that made her feel a tad too hot. When they spoke, no matter the words, a sense of intimacy was created within the dark confines, as though they were sharing not only secrets but the inner core of their very existence.
“I’m surprised a lady of quality would know about a penny gaff,” she said quietly.
“I very much doubt she knows the specifics. If they’re advertising for entertainments, she might believe it will be like a recital.”
“You think someone might take advantage of her.”
“Yes. I want to be on hand to lessen the damage. And, yes, I am very much aware the odds are against us finding her or finding the specific place where she might be performing, but I feel this overwhelming need to dosomething, not to be completely useless.”
“I’m beginning to think she might have been a fool to run off.”
“She never struck me as a fool. She must have had a good reason. But to come here? That baffles me beyond reasoning.”
“Had she gone someplace you expected, you might have been able to find her more easily.”
“As I said, not a fool.”
“So you went to her recital. What other things did you do with her?” She didn’t think his answer would aid in their search, but she was curious about his relationship with the lady, perhaps a tad jealous as well. This woman seemed not to appreciate what she’d possessed.
“The usual. Balls, dinners, theater, pleasure gardens, parks. We strolled about, we rode, but I am embarrassed to admit I believe I have conversed with you more in the time I have known you than I did with my fiancée during the entire time we were betrothed. We are taught only certain subjects are to be discussed, and they all seem rather superficial now. You are much more skilled at discourse.”
She laughed lightly. “The people with whom I converse are usually three sheets in the wind which tends to lend itself toward revealing more intimate details about oneself and one’s life. I’m afraid I’m not accustomed to there being barriers regarding what’s appropriate.”
He flashed a grin just as light chased away shadow, and then the shadow reasserted itself. “I imagine you’ve heard a lot of interesting tales.”
“I have. Perhaps I’ll tell you about them sometime. But not now, as we’ve arrived.” She’d given his coachman directions, and he’d managed to locate it on the first try, which made her wonder if the man might have visited the place before. The vehicle came to a stop; the driver’s companion opened the door and handed her down. The duke followed. She was rather glad to be in a position to see him gape.
“A church?” he asked, incredulously.
“More a chapel, once upon a time. Then it was converted into the Devil’s Door.”
He had to admit the building lent itself well to a place of entertainment. The pews provided the seating and the spot where the vicar had addressed his congregation, a raised area at the front, now served as the stage. He’d handed over sixpence, three-pence for each of them—the price having gone up since he’d last visited during his youth when he’d paid only a penny—and followed Gillie to a small empty space on a back pew. Only after he’d taken his seat did he realize it provided an intense intimacy, his hip and thigh pressing snuggly up against hers. Their shoulders were fairly smashed together, and he had an understanding of how a mummy might have felt—had the corpse had any awareness about him—stuffed into a sarcophagus.
“Don’t be alarmed, but I’m going to shift my arm up.” Up and over until it rested along the back of the pew, against her shoulders. He was grateful it was his right and not his left. While it was healing, it still ached, and he wasn’t certain he’d have been able to maneuver it to the extent needed to free up a bit of space between them.
