“Yes. She closed her account, along with your sister’s and sister-in-law’s.”
“Stuck a virtual knife in the woman’s ribs and twisted it.” Now that sounded more like his grandmother.
“She said I do not need to pay for the gowns, does that upset you?” Miss Michaels nibbled on her lower lip drawing his eye to the plump surface.
Maybe that was what he liked about her. That full, pouty lower lip that seemed extremely kissable. He could imagine her mouth on his body. He laughed to himself. He needed to stop thinking about Olivia this way. “If the dowager chose to purchase you gowns, then take them without hesitation.”
“You’re not upset that she spent an extravagant amount?”
“Not in the least. She has her own funds. Did she buy you a ball gown?”
“Yes. One made of silk. The yellow fabric shimmered and caught the light streaming through the shop’s bow window.” She blushed. “Forgive me. I’m rambling again.”
The excitement on her face made some emotion within Anthony spark. He could have given Maria ten gowns like that and she would never have batted an eye. Caroline, on the other hand, would have grinned broadly and kissed James, but Caroline, like Grandmother, had her own funds and did not rely on someone else to give such things to her. If she wanted a gown, she had carte blanche and could buy one. Miss Michaels had obviously never received such a gift and could not afford to purchase costly clothing for herself.
“There is no need to apologize, Miss Michaels. I am delighted you are pleased. And I’m sure you will look stunning when you accompany Grandmother and me to whichever ball she drags me to.” The thought of attending a ball with his grandmother felt as intrusive as he presumed a foot up the arse.
“You don’t care for balls, my lord?”
Anthony enjoyed gatherings, but the type of ball Grandmother would wish him to attend would be full of matchmaking mamas and stuffy prigs. There would be no dancing where a man and woman could waltz close without censure, and no running off to the garden for an assignation with sultry kisses. That thought made his gaze center on Olivia’s mouth again. There would be talk of weather and fashion and worse, his grandmother would toss young debutantes in front of him like breadcrumbs to a pigeon. Debutantes looking for marriage.
“Spending any time with my dear grandmother can be a trial and tribulation.”
A slight smile curved her lips, and Anthony decided it was not only the raspy texture of her voice when she spoke low that brought out the lust in him, it was indeed the plump surface of her lower lip. He pitched his renegade thoughts from his head and handed Miss Michaels the ledger for Victory Pens, along with more bills. Ones from woodworkers, painters, plasterers, so on and so forth.
In a few days he would visit the factory in the East End and make sure that the improvements were going according to the architect’s and James’s specifications. He reached for the blueprints. Though they had dimensions neatly written on them, Anthony could grasp them better since they contained scaled drawings.
He unrolled the blueprints and weighted the corners down with two paperweights, the desk lamp, and the ledger for the London Reformer. His eyes scanned the architectural drawings of the factory’s layout. Last night in bed, he’d pondered the placement of the various manufacturing stations. The production flow was well thought out, but if they moved the packaging station closer to the west side entrance that would save time getting the crates loaded onto drays. Then they would just need to add a loading dock at that entrance.
He took a piece of parchment from the paper tray and using a ruler as a straightedge, he drew up the changes. He compared his design to that of the blueprints. Both utilized the same amount of space, so the changes could be made.
Smiling, he glanced up at the clock on the desk and realized two hours had passed. “Miss Michaels, did I hand you a bill for carpentry work for areas five, six, and seven?”
“I don’t recall coming across one yet.” She ran her finger over one of the columns. “No, but let me check the last few receipts.” She thumbed through the remaining stack of invoices. “No. It is not in these either.”
“Good.” Anthony grinned. Tomorrow he would visit the factory in Wapping and see if his changes could be implemented.
Feeling somewhat jubilant, Anthony glanced at Miss Michaels again. She’d been judiciously adding the bills and jotting figures into the ledger. She was a godsend. “Miss Michaels, if you are tired you may finish the rest tomorrow.”
She peered at him. “I am adding the last few entries now, then I will total the columns and be done.”
Well, that fact deserved a celebration. He stood and strode to the mahogany sideboard and poured two snifters of brandy. “It’s been a productive evening. We need to celebrate.”
She looked at the glass he handed her and stared at it as if he had handed her a bug. “What is it, my lord?”
“French brandy. Cognac.”
“Is this what you were drinking last night?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never tasted it,” she said.
He leaned on the edge of his desk and watched as she brought the glass to her lush lips. She tentatively took a sip. Her upper lip glistened with the liquor, and she drew her tongue over it.
The sight made him want to kiss her and tangle his tongue with hers to see how her mouth tasted. Instead he asked, “What do you think?”
She took another sip. “I taste vanilla and . . .”
“Yes?”
She took another sip. “Citrus.”
He grinned. That was exactly how he would describe it.
She set the glass down and handed him the ledger as she stood.
Suddenly he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to celebrate. Accomplishments were few in his life, but after working on the blueprints, he felt as if he was slowly climbing a mountain and believed he might reach the peak before tumbling backward. Everything was falling into place, and he owed a great deal of thanks to Miss Michaels.
“Let me thank you for helping me. Let me take you somewhere to celebrate what we’ve accomplished.”
This time she looked at him like he offered her the apple from the Garden of Eden.
He grinned. “Don’t worry, love. Nothing nefarious. I thought I might take you to someplace like Finley’s Music Hall.”
* * *
She’d never been to Finley’s or any music hall. Lady Winton had mentioned the place once. Though her ladyship had never been there, she’d heard that the couples who danced there stood too close and some even danced on the tables. “You have been there before, my lord.”
“Yes. I think you would enjoy it.”
She bit the inside of her mouth. She was curious, but...
“Come on, Miss Michaels, live a little.”
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
His gaze swept over her. “What you are wearing is perfect. I will change into a simple sack suit.”
A piece of her desperately wanted to go. “I shouldn’t. It would not be proper of me to attend with you.”
“Being proper is rather dull. And if you do not accompany me, I fear I will get into all sorts of trouble. You see, Miss Michaels, I am the black sheep of the family and not always on my best behavior. If I am not accompanied by someone of your moral standing, I will most likely fall in with a bad crowd and end up doing something outlandish. I’ll end up with my name in the scandal sheets and give my grandmother an apoplexy. You do not want her death on your hands, do you?”
She tried not to grin, but instead look pious. “I do not think she will be any more pleased if she hears I accompanied you.”
“My grandmother is safely tucked in bed. If I’m on my best behavior she will never know. Plus, you owe me.”
She presumed she did. Her stepping in the wrong carriage had started this last fiasco. “But I didn’t force you to pick up Signora Campari and toss her over your shoulder.”
“Aww, you saw that?”
“
I did.”
“Would you have rather I stood there and let that she-cat strike me? She might have broken my nose. I hear it is my best feature.”
Everything about him was a best feature. God had been generous to him.
“Well, if you do not wish to go, I’ll head there myself.”
“I will accompany you,” she replied before she could halt her words.
The rascal’s smile broadened. “Thank you for saving my wicked soul, Miss Michaels. I will consider your debt to me paid in full.”
If he was looking for someone to save his soul, she was not the one to do it. But he didn’t know that.
Chapter Twelve
The horse’s hooves clopped on the cobbles as the hackney moved through the streets in the East End of London. With each bump in the road, the springs of the vehicle squeaked and jostled them about. Olivia glanced sideways at Lord Anthony. She expected to see a put-upon expression on his face, since he usually rode in a grand equipage, but instead he turned to her and smiled.
“We’re nearly there,” he said.
She forced a smile, even though her stomach fluttered with apprehension. Attending an event with Lord Anthony was wrong, yet beneath her misgiving she experienced euphoria. Vicar Finch would say it was due to the wickedness that lay within her. She could almost hear his voice resonating from where he stood at the pulpit in the church as he cast his dark glance at the girls from the orphanage and spoke of sin and vice. Perhaps he was right when it came to her, since she desperately wanted to attend the music hall.
Olivia ignored that thought. Tonight, she would try not to think of sin—hers or anyone else’s.
The vehicle pulled in front of a brick building. Two large gas lanterns illuminated the red double doors and the name FINLEY’S painted in white boxy letters on the brick façade.
Lord Anthony jumped down and offered her his gloved hand. As they stepped toward the doors, he leaned close. The puff of his breath touched her ear as he whispered, “Miss Michaels, while in this establishment it is imperative you call me Tony, and I call you Olivia. The crowd inside doesn’t take kindly to aristocrats, and though I enjoy a good round of fisticuffs, one man against three hundred would not be favorable odds.”
The gas lights next to the doors lessened the night’s shadows on his face, and she saw the flash of his white teeth as he grinned.
How could he smile after such a statement? Was a nobleman in danger here? If so, why would his lordship wish to visit such a place? Her own internal thoughts seemed almost ironic considering the risks she took. Did danger cause a rush of exhilaration to course through him? Sometimes she wondered about her own choices. Did she solely rob these wicked men to avenge others, or was she seduced by the thrill of it all?
“Miss Michaels?” he said, waiting for her response.
Some inner part of her wished to call him by the nickname. There was an intimacy to such an act. “Yes, I understand.”
His smile broadened. He removed his costly leather gloves and shoved them into the pockets of his simple wool jacket, which was nothing like the clothes he usually wore. And though the garment didn’t look tailor-made the breadth of his shoulders and lean hips were not any less obvious.
He opened the door and they stepped inside. A large mahogany bar ran one side of the dim room and a row of booths with simple wooden tables and built-in benches lined the opposite wall.
Several men at the bar turned and peered at them. A few mumbled a greeting, then returned their attention to their tankards of ale.
The bartender nodded. “Tony, haven’t seen you here in a while.”
Olivia looked at his lordship. He must frequent the establishment if the bartender knew him by his first name. Or the nickname he’d given them. She wondered who they thought he was.
As if reading what was going through her mind, one side of his mouth turned up, and he winked.
Feeling her cheeks heat, she avoided his gaze and peered around. Though the pub wasn’t exactly small, it was not as big as she had assumed it would be. There was no stage and not the number of people he had led her to believe. The place looked rather somber, and she experienced a flash of disappointment.
“This is it?” she asked.
“The music hall is in the back.”
He’d no sooner spoken when the floor beneath Olivia’s feet vibrated. The sound of singing and foot-stomping made its way into the small pub area.
With a jerk of his chin, his lordship motioned to another set of red double doors.
Olivia’s gaze shot to where he had gestured.
A man stumbled out of the doors, swaying as though he’d imbibed too much for his own good. His gaze settled on her. “Hey, love, I was about to leave, but I think I’ll stay and have a dance with you.” His words came out slurred.
Lord Anthony drew in a deep breath and shot the man a lethal glare. “Put your hands on her, my friend, and you’ll find them broken. Understand?”
The man’s supercilious smile slipped from his face, and he lifted his hands out, palms facing outward as if to ward off an attack. “Just trying to be friendly, nothing more.”
His lordship shot him one more scathing look, then whispered, “Some of the men in here get a bit rowdy, but next to me no one will bother you unless they are as drunk as that fellow. But do not worry, if need be, I’ll take care of them.”
“Who do they think you are?” she asked, unable to halt her curiosity any longer.
“Just a patron,” he replied, his expression unreadable.
Olivia was sure there was more to it than that.
He offered her his arm and led her through the doors into a massive hall with a stage in the front with red velvet curtains draped back. Three long tables filled with men and women seated at them were centered in the middle of the hall. Smaller round tables crowded the perimeter. Patrons stood on a balcony that ran on the three walls facing the stage. Most held tankards of ale and sang along with the piano player and the fellow who stood onstage, belting out a song about the health benefits of drinking a pint every day. Whenever the word pint was mentioned in the song, everyone clanked their glasses to the person standing next to them and stomped their feet.
“Let’s find a table,” his lordship said, speaking over the boisterous crowd.
They weaved through the tables. A man passed them and clapped Lord Anthony on the shoulder. “Haven’t seen you here in a while. We had a fight here last week. We could have used you then.”
“Hopefully, there won’t be any tonight. I’m with a lady, and I don’t wish to get my knuckles bloodied.”
The fellow glanced at her, grinned, and walked away.
“Were you involved in a fight here?” Olivia peered at him as he pulled out a chair for her at one of the few round tables that didn’t have patrons sitting at it.
“A small scuffle.” His expression remained bland, giving little of his thoughts away.
She tipped her head to the side. “I doubt one gets bloodied knuckles from a small scuffle.”
“Two drunks went at it. Somehow I ended up in the middle.”
Now she understood why he considered himself the black sheep of the family. Not every nobleman visited places like this and brawled.
A buxom barmaid, who looked to be in her mid-thirties, strode up to their table. “How you doing, handsome? What can I get you?”
Lord Anthony shifted sideways in his chair and peered at Olivia. “Do you want an ale?”
She’d never had one and wondered if it tasted like the brandy he’d given her earlier. “Yes, thank you.”
“Two pints.” His lordship raised his hand showing two fingers.
The man on stage finished his song and started singing another rowdy tune. Two tables away a woman climbed on the scarred surface of a table and lifted the skirt of her dress to her knees and danced. The woman’s legs were encased in dark woolen stockings with a hole near the knee that exposed the white creamy color of her pale skin. Men and women gathered around
and clapped.
If the proper Vicar Finch saw such ribald revelry, he would have fainted or perhaps suffered a coronary. But Olivia couldn’t help the feeling of delight that the rowdy group caused to settle within her. These people, no matter their lot in life, enjoyed escaping the confines of their day-to-day drudgery. People whose birth and circumstances set them squarely in one spot on the social sphere. A spot they momentarily left behind—only to be reminded of it when they awoke in the morning. In truth, they were no different from her. Tomorrow she would still be a companion whose class varied greatly from his lordship’s, but tonight she was determined to absorb this experience.
As if Lord Anthony sensed the excitement within her, he grinned, and she could not stop herself from returning his smile. Somehow, he’d known this place would excite something within her. Was she so transparent to him? That should frighten her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of the barmaid with their ale. As the woman placed his lordship’s drink in front of him, she bent low, exposing the creamy flesh of her ample breasts. “Anything else I can get you, duckie, you just give me a whistle.”
Lord Anthony’s gaze dipped to the barmaid’s bosom, but he didn’t return the woman’s cheeky smile as he slid several coins across the table. “No. That will be all.”
Did some women just blatantly proposition him? He was beyond handsome and his physique rivaled some of the pictures she’d seen of Greek gods, but still . . . She glanced around and noticed even in his plain sack suit he drew the regard of both women and men. Perhaps it was that he was taller than most and stood out. Well, that didn’t make a great deal of sense since he was sitting. Perhaps it was the aura about him, or that the fight he’d engaged in at an earlier date had been something to behold, causing him to be regarded with both caution and admiration.
“Why is everyone glancing at you?”
He stared at her for a long minute. “Perhaps it is not me that draws their regard, but you.”
Her? Was he mad? She was not beautiful or striking. Surely not like his mistress. Olivia’s hair was too brash. Her face was freckled. Yet, when he looked at her, she could almost believe he meant what he said. Almost.
Never Mix Sin with Pleasure Page 9
