Page 39 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
Or that was his theory regarding what he purported would happen. What actually occurred was that his action allowed her to not sit as stiffly, which resulted in her being nestled against his side, the softness of her tempting him to curl his hand around her arm and draw her in even closer. He cursed his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt for providing a barrier between them. Her gaze remained fastened on the stage where a fellow, dressed as a woman—with a bosom so large it was a wonder he could remain upright—was engaged with a clownish fellow wearing a coat at least two sizes too big and whose hair looked like straw sticking out from beneath his black bowler hat. The end of his bulbous nose was painted a red that matched his cheeks, supposedly to imply he was well into his cups. Their words were ribald, their actions even more so as they imitated what could only be described as fucking—the woman figure bent partially over screeching, the clownish one behind her, swinging his hips back and forth while snorting and grunting.
He’d forgotten how grotesque these performances could be or perhaps he’d been too drunk to remember. Lavinia would not be here. She could not possibly be here.
Leaning over, catching a whiff of Gillie’s vanilla fragrance that had continually assaulted him in the carriage, he whispered near her ear, “I’ve made a mistake. We can leave.”
She held up what he supposed passed for a playbill within these wretched walls. “A nightingale is next.”
“I have no interest whatsoever in listening to birds.”
She turned her head slightly, and he was struck by the amusement shining in her eyes. The gaslights were dim but their glow provided enough illumination to see her clearly. He’d never seen anyone so serene. She should have been positively appalled that he would bring her to such an establishment. Her lips twitched as though she were fighting not to laugh. “It’ll be a woman, singing. You might want to get a look at her before we leave.”
“I can’t continue to subject you to this disgusting display.”
“I’ve seen worse from drunkards. We’re here now and might as well make the most of it.”
“Right.” It wouldn’t be Lavinia, yet he was suddenly no longer in a hurry to make an exit, to lose the intimacy of this moment. He wasn’t even aware his hand had moved until it brushed along her chin and danced over the short strands of her hair. He could see why efforts were being made to shut these establishments down. With the improper talk and actions on the stage and the people around them joining in with their own renditions of bawdy words shouted and lewd actions pantomimed, how was a person not to send his mind rushing into the gutter, how was he not to imagine taking the first step on a journey that would end with him thrusting his own hips with a bit more finesse?
She licked her lips, and he couldn’t help but believe that tasting them would cause the surrounding din to fade into obscurity. They were so incredibly close, so near, that it wouldn’t take much, only another inch or two of leaning in—
Cries, shouts, whoops increased in crescendo, and he tore his gaze from what he wanted and directed it toward what he needed to focus on. They were at this god-awful place for a purpose. He couldn’t forget that or the importance of finding Lavinia. While he was still put out with her and disappointed in her, he felt a measure of responsibility for her and wanted to ensure she returned to the place she belonged.
The hideous chaps were gone, replaced by a woman in resplendent red walking provocatively from the wings until she stood in the center where the pulpit had no doubt once been. Then she began belting out a tune—in a raspy, throaty voice—that a drunken seaman recently arrived in port might sing. The words, while not lewd, were certainly suggestive of a man bedding a woman in a coarse and ungentlemanly manner.
“Is that her?” Gillie asked quietly.
“No, thank God. Coming here was a colossal mistake. I’m not quite certain what I was thinking.”
“You’re desperate to find her. Makes it difficult to think straight.” She looked down at the parchment, moving it until enough light hit it that she could read it. “There’s an act called the Dancing Angels. Does she dance?”
“Nothing that wouldn’t be found in a ballroom.”
“These ladies will probably be kicking up their skirts.”
He couldn’t imagine Lavinia saying that as though it were an everyday occurrence, but then he was beginning to realize that Gillie sat in judgment of very little and was incredibly worldly. He didn’t want to consider how she’d come to know the things she knew. His stomach clenched with the thought that her experiences with men might be such that she believed the crudity to be normal. He had a strong urge to show her a man’s taking of a woman was nothing at all like what was being portrayed on the stage, whether by action or song. “Then they are hardly ladies, are they?” he asked.
She sighed. “Perhaps we should sit through all the acts. There are only two remaining.”
The next act was a gent who used a violin to mutilate music. Thorne assumed his purpose was to bring some class to the place. Then it was the Dancing Angels, who did indeed flash a good bit of leg, none of which was very impressive. He imagined Gillie up there on the stage. With her height, her legs would be longer than any of the others. And no doubt incredibly sleek.
He closed his eyes. It was only because she was there with him that he was envisioning her prancing about, kicking a foot toward the ceiling, her skirt falling down her calf, past her knee, to her thigh. If Lavinia were sitting beside him... not once had he ever had a lascivious thought about her. Because she was a lady of the highest caliber. A gentleman did not have impure and improper thoughts about a genteel woman. Gillie on the other hand, a tavern owner—was so much more distracting.
“We should probably leave,” she said quietly. “They’ll be clearing the place out before the next show, collecting another fee from those who wish to stay.”
He could think of better ways to spend sixpence. He didn’t offer his arm, but simply took her hand and tucked it within the crook of his elbow. “So we don’t get separated in the mad rush.”
She didn’t say anything, but neither did she pull away. Once they were outside, he said, “I need to walk for a spell, get the stench of the place off me.”
Merely nodding, she kept her hand where it was and matched her stride to his. He’d be damned glad when the nuisance of a limp was gone.
“There are other penny gaffs,” she said.
He shook his head. “I’d forgotten how ghastly awful they are. She won’t have gotten herself mixed up in something like that. If someone tricked her into performing, once she realized what it was about, she’d walk out without hesitation.” Or at least he bloody well hoped she would. He kept taking what he knew of Gillie and layering it over his memories of Lavinia like a second skin. How could he have paid so little attention to a woman he was to marry? He was the worst sort of scapegrace. “You said you’d heard things about the penny gaffs, but based upon the absence of any abhorrence on your part, I’d have to say you’ve been to them.”
“Before I opened my tavern, or even acquired the funds with which to purchase the building, my brothers took me to a few shows so I would be well aware that men under the influence could be arses.”
“You weren’t put off?”
“Penny gaffs are designed to encourage lascivious behavior. My tavern is not. I let it be known straightaway that if a man slaps one of my girls on her bum—or elsewhere—he’ll be shown the door. Anyone who acts in a worse manner will discover one of my brothers waiting in an alleyway. Certainly men get drunk and say things they ought not. Sometimes they even try to do things they ought not. I’ve actually had men, after sleeping off a stupor, come into the Mermaid and inform me they are deserving of a punch and offer their chin up in sacrifice.”
