by Lavinia Kent
She certainly didn’t need a man to support her. She’d put enough aside to take care of herself for the rest of her life—as long as she didn’t marry some wastrel who would gamble it away within a year. “I will definitely take your words and advice into consideration.”
“Just remember a fortnight and I want his name. It is not a long time. You will have to get busy.”
She knew very well how short a time it was. “And if I do not have a name for you in a fortnight?”
“Then you will either marry who I choose or say goodbye to your grandmother.”
Chapter 15
How many nights was she going to lie in bed staring at the ceiling? Her grandfather wanted the impossible. Madame Rouge would never find a husband, at least not one who was not of very peculiar tastes. And sweet Emma could never find one so fast.
But the worst of it was that marriage was not what kept her up at night. It was dreams of Derek.
She missed him. No matter how she tried to shut him from her mind he snuck in. She’d be reading and suddenly wish to share a bit of prose. She’d be watching a storm through the window and wish he were there to wrap his arms about her and hold her tight. Cook would bring in a plate of pastries, and she could only stare at the cherry tarts and remember Derek saying he didn’t care for sweets and then eating three before she could blink.
And that did not even include the middle of the night when she longed for his heat next to her, for his firm touch, for the weight of his body rising over hers, for the feel of his fingers upon her breasts, and his tongue…
She rolled over in the bed, trying hard to push the thought away, even as the ache grew between her legs.
Tossing about, she tried to find a comfortable position. Her fingers skimmed over her chemise, feeling the tight peaks of her breasts. She stroked slow, easy circles, pinched at the tips, felt the ache grow.
A hand moved over her mound. It would be so easy to bring herself pleasure, she’d done it so many times these past few days—but the satisfaction never lasted longer than a moment, and then if anything the ache was worse.
She’d been mistaken to send Derek away so quickly. They could have had this time together.
She turned on her stomach, thumping the pillows hard.
She missed him. Oh, how she missed him.
It wasn’t fair.
But then when had life ever been fair? You only got what you worked for—and even then you often had to work harder than a thing was worth.
So did she want him enough to work for him?
Sitting up in the bed, she lit a candle. Was she willing to work for him? And what was she working for?
Was he already engaged? From his words, he very well might be, and if he was she might have to put all her plans aside.
But what if it hadn’t happened yet? Could she have another night with him? Two? More?
What was she willing to do to earn the possibility of a single night?
A lot. Almost anything.
A night could last a long time. Perhaps her problem was that their last night had happened so suddenly. She’d had no chance to prepare. If she went into it knowing it was the last night, if she had a proper chance to say her goodbyes, then maybe she wouldn’t hurt so much.
And maybe if she saw Anne, if she could picture him moving on with life, then maybe…
It was a foolish idea. She knew it was a foolish idea—and yet, it was the only hope she had.
Now if only she knew a way to find him. Was Tilly still in contact with his first mate? It would hurt nothing to find that out.
—
“Well, I was actually going to talk to you about that, Madame,” Tilly said as she took the seat across from Ruby. “I’ve been talking to his mate, to Timms, and it seems to me we’d like to get married.”
“What?” Ruby could not hide her surprise.
“Well, Timms has set a bit aside he has, and now that he’s lost his foot and all, he doesn’t think the sea’s the way for him. He’d like to sell fish he would. And my sister’s married to a fisherman up near Brighton. If I was to head back that way with a man I think we could all make it work.”
Tilly married. The thought echoed around and around in Ruby’s head. She’d had girls get married before, not often, but sometimes, particularly those girls who’d actually saved money themselves. A man could forgive a lot for a heavy wallet. “Are you sure, Tilly?”
“Well, yes, I think so. It’s hard for a man to only have one foot, but I don’t mind. The important parts still work if you know what I mean.”
“That I do, Tilly. I’ll do what I can to help.” Tilly married. The thought ran through her head again. It was not something she’d ever imagined, but then after the attack a little more than a month ago, Tilly had never quite relaxed back into the business.
“Thank you, Madame. Now about Captain Price. Timms says he’s taken some posh lodgings. He could show you where, but he’s not quite sure how to tell you how to get there. He says the captain was complaining that some woman was demanding it of him, wanted to be sure everything was up to her standards. The captain wasn’t happy. If he can’t stay on the ship he normally just takes rooms at an inn.”
If she became desperate enough, Ruby might actually have Tilly call for Timms, but she was not quite there yet. “Is there anything else, Tilly?”
Tilly scrunched up her nose in thought. “Not really, although Timms did mention he was going to some fancy dress party.”
“Fancy dress?”
“He needed a costume and he didn’t like the idea. Timms said he should go as a pirate and for some reason that Timms didn’t understand the captain found that funny. Then he said something about going as a sheik that Timms didn’t catch. In the end he sent Timms out to buy a plain black mask. Doesn’t sound very fancy to me.”
No, Derek would not like being required to dress a part. He’d had enough problems with her games—hadn’t even put on the silk robe when she’d provided it, although he had seemed to have a certain fondness for it when she’d worn it. “Did he say when the party was?”
“No, but it must be soon. Timms went out for the mask this morning.”
“Thank you, Tilly. And do let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with the wedding—and what you’d like for your bride gift.”
—
Three days. Derek tapped a finger on the desk before him. Three days and he’d be engaged—if Anne didn’t put off the actual engagement again. He’d lost track of her excuses for needing another day or two. The thought left a cold weight in the pit of his stomach. Anne had requested his attention this morning and it had not gone well. He’d spent an hour listening to her complain about the party she’d attended the previous night and then another hour listening to her complain about the wardrobe she’d brought with her from Manchester. Apparently even though she’d purchased everything just before coming, none of it was up to Town standards and she’d need to replace it all.
And she was not pleased that he hadn’t been there waiting when she arrived.
And she was not pleased that he hadn’t purchased a house, had only rented one. It did not matter that she would stay with her family until after the wedding.
And she was not pleased that he was planning on them heading home to Rhode Island shortly after the wedding.
And she was not pleased to be heading to Rhode Island at all.
And she was not pleased that…
He rubbed his temple. She’d seemed reasonably pleasant in Manchester. What had happened? He’d known she was a little particular, but he hadn’t realized she was an absolute shrew.
Or was it him? He had to admit that with every day that passed he felt less and less inclined to marriage. There were reasons he’d not once questioned her postponements. How could he confine himself to one woman for eternity? Or was it more accurate to say how could he confine himself to Anne for all eternity?
He wasn’t sure the same problem would exist with another woman�
�say a certain blue-eyed madam.
He could easily see confining himself to Ruby for all eternity, but then Ruby wasn’t one woman, she was many. It seemed every time he saw her he discovered some new facet of her personality, some secret that he’d overlooked before.
And he certainly wouldn’t get bored. And it wasn’t just the sex. Oh, Ruby fucked like a goddess, but he was just as happy lying beside her listening to the rain or discussing a book they’d both read. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, he did much prefer the fucking, but then, he was a man.
It was probably that he’d only known her for seven nights. You couldn’t get bored with a woman in seven nights. If he had longer with her she’d lose her allure. He’d stop thinking about how her laugh filled a room, about the look that came on her face when she bit into a cherry tart, about how much she cared about her girls, about how hard she worked, about…
And she’d sent him on his way before he was ready. If he’d been the one to leave he would feel different.
Maybe he should go back to Madame Rouge’s, demand another night. She would not refuse him once he was there; the passion between them would flare as it always did. It would not be hard to persuade her that they needed more time. Surely they could be together until his wedding.
His stomach clenched again at the thought.
He tapped his finger again, beating a rapid tattoo upon his father’s signature, upon the letter that congratulated him on his coming wedding, that told him how proud his father was.
The last time his father had been proud was when he’d taken his stallion over a fence at the age of fourteen.
He closed his eyes, straightened his shoulders. A man did what he must.
Even as he had the thought there was a rap at the door. He strode over and opened it to find a rather small boy with a rather large box.
“Are you Captain Price, sir?” the boy asked.
“Yes.”
“This is for you, then. The lady said to be sure you got it today and to tell you that she’d be most displeased if you didn’t wear it tonight.”
“The lady?”
“Miss Anne Williams, sir.”
“Bloody hell.” He didn’t realize he’d said the words out loud until he saw the boy’s expression. Pulling a shilling from his pocket, he handed it to the boy who scurried off, clearly relieved.
Taking the box, he set it on the desk, blocking out his father’s letter. He untied the cord, hoping it would not be what he feared it was.
Blast. A costume. He’d told Anne he didn’t intend to wear more than a mask, but clearly she hadn’t listened. He pushed aside the paper and stared down at the bright red cross splayed across the white linen.
A Knight Templar. She wanted him to be a bloody knight.
He’d tried to discuss Ivanhoe with her a few days ago, but she’d showed little interest. Still, she must have listened enough to have picked up some of the story. But had she meant to dress him as a bloody villain? Or had she simply not bothered to read the book herself? And did she plan on coming as Rowena or Rebecca?
Rowena. Anne would never see herself as anything but the fair heroine.
—
“The only masquerade in the next weeks is tomorrow night,” Louisa, Lady Swanston, stated. “And why do you want to know?”
Ruby considered her answer with care. Over the half year, Louisa had become one of her dearest friends and she didn’t want to offend her in any way. The two were as unlikely a pair as possible, the proper lady and the theatrical madam, but from the moment of their meeting a strange kinship had developed between them, and it certainly didn’t hurt that Ruby could take credit for finding Louisa her handsome husband. “There’s a man I want to see and I believe he’ll be there.”
“At a masquerade? Is this another of your matchmaking schemes?” Louisa asked. “Between me and Lady Bliss you’ve got quite a thing going.”
And that wasn’t even including Miss Sarah Swilp and the help Ruby had given her. “No, he’s actually chosen a bride all on his own. I’d just like a chance to see him again before the engagement becomes official.”
“Oh.” It was clear Louisa’s mind was moving in far too accurate a direction.
She stared about Louisa’s perfect parlor, every subdued piece in good taste, the cream and peacock striped walls, the light grey brocade furnishings, the small porcelain figurines. She’d been here a couple of times previously, each time arriving heavily veiled like a widow in deep mourning. “I do not want to explain the details. They do not matter anyway. It will not be long before he is married and after that he will return to the States.”
“Can I have a name?” Louisa asked.
Ruby stopped. She knew so many secrets, held so many things tight and concealed. Louisa herself had come to Ruby with a great secret, and Ruby had kept that trust—and found Louisa a husband. But that was different than sharing pieces of herself, of risking another’s knowledge.
Louisa met her gaze, her eyes holding promises that did not pass her lips.
“Captain Price. Captain Derek Price,” she said after a moment. “He’s the captain of the Dawn’s Light out of Rhode Island. His family is in shipping and textiles.”
“I believe I’ve met him,” Louisa replied with slow consideration. “He’s Lord Willis’s cousin of some kind. A very imposing figure of a man.”
That was certainly true, if somewhat understated. “You do have a most amazing memory. I swear you never forget a face—and the name that goes with it.”
Louisa chuckled softly. “Except when it really matters. Then it can take me a while to put name and face together.”
Ruby could only smile in return. “I still must ask you one more favor, a large one.”
“Anything,” Louisa answered.
“Can you get me an invitation? I hate to ask, but…”
Louisa let loose a laugh. “An invitation to a society ball for London’s most notorious madam, why ever not? You always were fond of the impossible.”
“I am hardly the most notorious.”
“I won’t argue the point, but if you wish I will try to procure one for you. I know the debt I owe you. I assume you don’t need it to actually be in your name? You’ll be in costume so I just need to make sure that it’s for somebody of similar size who won’t be attending. I already know I can trust your discretion. All I ask in return is that you let me know what costume you will be wearing. I do want a chance to watch the spectacle.”
Ruby picked up her bonnet and veils and placed them back upon her wig, carefully arranging them to be sure her face was too shadowed to be seen. “I will send you a note. And now I must be off. I’ve a couple of errands to run and a costume to arrange. I don’t know yet what it will be, but I promise it will be worth seeing.”
—
Ruby paused at the bottom of the steps and looked back at the crestless carriage that Louisa had loaned her. Was she really going to do this? There was still time to go back, to return home. She was not normally given to such self-doubt, but neither was she given to doing things she thought were not wise. And this was definitely not wise.
She should go back. She did not belong here.
What was she hoping to gain?
And then she sucked in her stomach, pushed her shoulders back, and walked up the stairs. As long as her mask stayed on, no one would ever know who she was, what she was. And even if the mask came off, nobody would recognize her—well, nobody but Derek. Without her cosmetics it was doubtful that even her most regular patrons would recognize her pallid features. And even Derek might not know her in the long, dark ringlets of her new wig. She’d been tempted to just let her natural hair show, but what if her father were here? It was unlikely that he was, but that was one meeting she didn’t feel the need for. She didn’t know what her father would do, but she knew it would not be pleasant.
Reaching up, she made sure the dark silk half-mask was firmly in place, the ribbons tight beneath the red silk of her turban. Reassured, s
he entered through the wide-open doors, handing the invitation to a footman who did not even glance down at it before setting it aside. The majority of the guests had not bothered to bring their invitations, clearly secure in who they were, not even their costumes hiding their right to be right where they were.
Giving her hips a sway that drew every man’s eye, Ruby sallied through the entryway and into the ballroom. If there was anyone who knew how to pretend to be someone else it was she. Slowing her walk, she surveyed the room, seeking that one man. Her eyes trailed over man after man in dark colors and mask, seeking one who did not wish to hide, who had the confidence to be himself.
Would she ever have that confidence? Is that what drew her to him? Derek was so comfortable in his own skin, and she wasn’t always sure which skin she belonged in.
Except when she was with him. When she was with him all the pieces fit together.
No. That was not him. Right height, right build, but just not right.
Hmm. What about the man in the deep hood? She bit down on her lip. He took a step, another. No. The stride was wrong. Derek would never prance.
Man after man, she considered and rejected. Perhaps he was not here yet. She had come near the beginning of the affair, afraid to miss him.
Well, she would have to look, and perhaps enjoy herself as well. When was she ever going to get an opportunity such as this again? If life had been slightly different, this might have been her world. Could it hurt to glance around a bit, to see what it was her birth had kept her from, to give in to her girlish dreams?
She glanced down at her costume again, wanting to be sure that it fit in with the crowd. If anything it was too fine. The deep red silk of her tight skirts and the velvet of the three button vest were equal to any in the room, but the Venetian brocade that marked collar, cuffs, and waist was something else, that one thin strip of faded brocade that was finer than any fabric here. It was amazing the modiste had finished it so quickly.
