Connie Mason & Mia Marlowe - [Royal Rakes 02]
Page 10
No one would put her out of her own place. Not even if the young gentleman did have what looked like official papers in hand.
His Nibs had better right the situation and damn quick, too. Or Sadie would see him swing. Hell, she’d dance on his coffin.
And she had the means to do it, too.
***
For the next two days, Nathaniel saw little of Georgette aside from the time he spent sitting across from her in the grand dining room each evening.
As far as she knows.
Nathaniel was aware of every place she went and had been able to shadow her effectively. To stay apprised of Georgette’s schedule, Nate had enlisted the help of Reuben Darling. Once he explained that his sole interest was in keeping Georgette safe, Nate found a willing partner in the footman.
Mercy had been more difficult. She wasn’t about to spy on her mistress, she claimed. But it only took the promise of sixpence a week and she was suddenly eager to provide him with eyes and ears inside the secret world of Georgette’s chambers.
He’d watched covertly from the little balcony as Mr. Gooch drilled Georgette on her dance steps. Nate could barely restrain a cheer when she sailed through the lesson without mishap. Mr. Gooch, on the other hand, was so flummoxed, his usually pasty complexion turned an unhealthy puce. The dance master had been forced to admit to Lady Yorkingham that there was no need for further instruction.
“Lady Georgette is now fully prepared to charm the royals,” Mr. Gooch had announced grandly, as if his time with her was responsible for the improvement in Georgette’s grace and carriage.
If he thought she did well with the line dances, the man should see her waltz, Nate thought with a wry grin.
Thanks to Reuben and Mercy, Nathaniel had tailed Georgette on her visits to the modiste for fittings. He’d followed at a discreet distance as Georgette and her mother paid social calls on prominent matrons.
In those cases, Nathaniel was thankful to be in semi-exile. Nothing was more tedious than balancing teacups and finger sandwiches on one’s knees while trying to remain awake through exhaustive conversations about the weather.
All in all, it was a satisfactory arrangement, except for the fact that he couldn’t really spend any time with Georgette. He was beginning to feel a bit like those courtly lovers she was so keen on. Like the lovesick medieval swain, he could only worship his lady from afar.
He’d much rather worship her up close. And not just to satisfy Mr. Alcock’s Machiavellian schemes, either.
Still, this hidden game of cat-and-mouse was the best he could manage at present. His minions in Yorkingham House had been scrupulously efficient in their reports to him.
So when he pushed aside the threadbare curtains on the upper story of his disreputable new acquisition in Covent Garden, he wasn’t surprised to see Georgette and Mercy making their way down Lackaday Lane.
He checked his pocket watch, then returned the gold timepiece to its place. “Right on time, Georgie.”
If he hadn’t spoken to Mercy after breaking his fast that morning, he’d have been furious with Georgette for daring this “rescue mission” without Mr. Darling at her side. But the maid had assured him that Tuesday mornings were the bully’s half day off at Madam Bouchard’s, so the physical danger to Georgette was minimal.
Just in case, he’d decided to drop in unannounced in a few moments, both to make sure Georgette was all right and to surprise her with how industrious he’d been in the last couple days. Somehow, he had to get back into her good graces and this was the only thing he could think of.
The only thing she might accept from him now.
***
Vesta was the virginal Roman goddess of fire, the embodiment of the hearth, purity, and all wifely virtues. The whore who went by the same unlikely name pulled her wrapper up over her shoulder, but not before Georgette caught sight of a purpling bruise.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, duchess,” Vesta said, “but if I was you, I’d make myself scarce before Madam wakes and catches you at it.”
“I’m no duchess.” At least not yet. Georgette moved further into the slightly shabby room. She imagined the velvet coverlet didn’t appear nearly so threadbare by candle glow. In the right light, the gilt paint on the headboard of the bed that occupied the central place in the chamber probably glinted like the real thing. “I’m a woman, just like you.”
Vesta’s lip curled as she plopped down at the foot of the bed. “You’re nothing like me.”
Georgette looked down at her lace-gloved hands. Before she renewed her acquaintance with Nathaniel Colton, she’d have agreed. Now she knew she had far more in common with Vesta than she’d suspected.
“Listen to her, Vesta,” Mercy said. “Changed my life, she did.”
The girl rolled her eyes.
Mercy went over and sat next to her friend. “I have my own room now. And no one comes into it, unless I gives ’em leave. I eat regular too, and even if I’ve spilled bootblack on the rug or ripped a bit of lace on milady’s unmentionables, no one docks my pay or makes me do without.”
So that’s what happened to the Brussels lace. Not surprised about the bootblack though, Georgette thought, but she was careful to keep her expression cautiously neutral.
Vesta narrowed her eyes at Georgette, still trying to decide whether or not to trust her.
“You don’t know me any more than I know you,” Vesta said. “Why do you care what happens to me?”
There was a time when a whole string of pious platitudes would have spilled from Georgette’s mouth. Now she weighed her words.
“How old are you, Vesta?”
“Nineteen.”
Georgette struggled to keep the surprise from her face. With the dark smudges under Vesta’s eyes and the lines that were beginning to gather around her mouth, Georgette would have put her nearer to thirty.
“I’m not so much older than you,” Georgette said. At twenty-three she would have been considered “on the shelf,” if not for the Duke of Cambridge’s interest in her. “I’m not trying to change you if you are content with your lot. But I know what it is to make choices one later regrets.”
She still wasn’t sure which she regretted more—the time she spent dallying with Nathaniel in the ballroom or the fact that she’d cut it short. But she did feel regret.
Every waking hour. And in a few of her dreaming ones as well.
“If you would like the chance to make different choices,” Georgette said, “I believe I can help.”
“How?”
Even though Georgette really didn’t need two maids, she’d intended on offering Vesta a position. She’d hoped the girl had a gift for styling hair, but Vesta’s own straggly tresses were no recommendation. “Well—”
“Whatever you have in mind, unless you can spare ten quid and sixpence, duchess, you’re no use to me.”
Georgette didn’t carry that kind of money with her. All the merchants her family traded with dealt on credit. Besides, that sum was more than Mercy earned in a year. Of course, her maid also received room, board, and her pick from Georgette’s cast off clothing. She could even sell what she didn’t want on the secondhand market, so Mercy’s true income was higher if one considered more than just her salary.
“I haven’t much money with me,” Georgette admitted, wondering how she’d finagle that sum in ready cash from her father.
When she roamed about London, she made sure Mercy had only enough to cover small incidental purchases and her maid doled out the needed coin. Georgette never actually handled money herself and wouldn’t dream of carrying any on her person.
Certainly not enough to exceed a year’s wages for a semi-trained, slightly insubordinate domestic servant.
“Is ten pounds six what you owe the madam?” Nathaniel’s rich bass came from the open doorway.
Georgette whirled to face him.
“What are you doing here?” He’d obviously followed her. She wasn’t sure whether to be i
ncensed or relieved.
“Same as you. Trying to help.”
Vesta’s gaze turned immediately to Nate and she let her wrapper gape a bit to display more of her ample bosom. “Maybe you’d like a little help from me right back, eh, guv? I can be oh so helpful when a bloke’s as fine as you.”
“A charming offer, but not necessary, thank you.” He kept his gaze riveted on the whore’s face. “I repeat. Will ten quid and sixpence square you with the madam?”
Vesta nodded brusquely, cinching her wrapper closed.
“How did ye ever get so far into dun territory, Vesta?” Mercy placed a hand on her friend’s slim forearm. “I never owed more than two pounds in all my living life. And it was hard enough to scrape together that much to repay.”
“I can’t help it if I like fine things.” Vesta rose and paced around the room, positioning herself so the bed separated her from the rest of them. “Madam always said I’d get better clients if I had better dresses. Silk don’t come cheap, you know. Then there’s the interest. And my meals.”
“Madam Bouchard didn’t charge for food when I was here,” Mercy said.
“She does now,” Vesta said. “And if I want clean sheets once a week, I have to pay the laundress, don’t I? All told, I owe about two shillings more each week.”
It didn’t take an abacus to figure that Vesta was as good as a slave to her employer. She’d never work off the debt on her own. The burden would simply accumulate. Once she was too old for whoring, she’d be turned out or maybe turned over to the magistrate and sent to debtor’s prison.
“If your debt was paid, what would you do? Where would you go?” Nathaniel asked.
Vesta shrugged.
“Surely you have family,” Georgette suggested.
Vesta’s laugh was brittle. “None that’d be glad to see me.”
“Have you any marketable skills?” Georgette asked.
“Plenty of ’em.” Vesta’s smile turned lascivious and she flicked her gaze at Nathaniel. “I’d give him a sample, but Madam don’t allow no free tosses.”
For once, Georgette found herself in complete agreement with the madam.
“What did you have in mind, guv? Are you looking to set up a ladybird of your own? It’d be no hardship tending to the needs of the likes of you.” Vesta slinked across the room toward Nathaniel, earthy sensuality oozing from every pore. “Your friends, too, if you’re the generous sort.”
She lifted a perfectly arched brow at him. “We could have ourselves a time.”
“No doubt,” Nathaniel said. “But that’s not my intent. Sadie’s House of Sirens just across the lane recently came into my possession. The madam there has been evicted and the debts her girls owed have been repaid. I gave them the same choice I now offer you. I’ll square your debt. Go, if you wish. Stay, if you wish. But if you choose to stay at the House of Sirens, you must not sell yourself again. You must remain sober and you will apply yourself to learning a trade so that you will be self-supporting within six months.”
“You mean there’s a room for me at the Sirens?” Vesta cocked her head at him. “And I don’t have to lift my skirts to keep it?”
Nathaniel nodded. “A few of the girls were from the country and have decided to take their chances and go home. There are three open rooms. One is yours, if you want it. Under my terms, of course.”
Vesta narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What are you, some kind of saint?”
“Hardly.” The word slipped out Georgette’s mouth before she could stop it.
Nathaniel splayed his fingers across his chest as if she’d pierced him with an invisible arrow. “You cut me to the quick, Lady Georgette.”
“No one asked you to get involved,” she said, turning toward him tight-lipped.
Nathaniel Colton didn’t have an altruistic bone in his body. There was something else behind this sudden spurt of goodness. And she doubted that ulterior motive was good in the least.
Nate started toward her. “Contrary to what you might believe, you are not the only one in this room capable of compassion.”
“Yeah, yeah, the two of you can go at it hammer and tongs later.” Vesta placed herself firmly between them. “What about me? Don’t you think it likely Madam Bouchard will send Mr. Duggins after me once the pair of you do-gooders flit back to whatever cloud you dropped down from?”
“That’s why I hired Mr. Bagley to act as guard for the residents across the way,” Nathaniel said, casting Georgette a smug grin over Vesta’s shoulder. “He’s a former pugilist and is easily a match for Mr. Duggins in height and girth.”
“What about the fact that Vesta must learn a trade?” Georgette asked, wishing she could persuade this Mr. Bagley to smack that grin off Nate’s face. “I doubt your pugilist will be much use if Vesta wants to pursue the craft of millinery or flower arranging.”
“That’s why I’ve also engaged Mrs. Throckmorten.” Nathaniel waved Vesta out of his way with every courtesy so he could plant himself firmly in front of Georgette. “She’s a former headmistress at a ladies’ academy with ties to several merchants all along Bond Street. She’ll evaluate Vesta’s skills and set her up with an apprenticeship or find her a suitable position in domestic service.”
Georgette crossed her arms over her chest. “So it doesn’t bother you to think of Vesta emptying someone’s chamber pot so long as it’s your idea.”
“No.” He raised a finger in reproof. “Only so long as it’s her idea.”
“Seems you’ve thought of everything,” Georgette said grudgingly. An academy of sorts for soiled doves was nothing short of brilliant.
He gave her a mocking bow. “One does one’s best.”
“Oh, why don’t the pair of you just shag each other and get it over with?” Vesta said. “We’re supposed to be talking about me, you know.”
“So we were. My apologies, Vesta,” Nate said. “And I will take your shagging suggestion under advisement.”
Georgette’s cheeks heated, but there was nothing to be gained by protesting that she wouldn’t dream of letting Nathaniel “shag” her.
Besides, she was afraid she just might.
“What have you decided?” Nathaniel asked Vesta.
“If you square me with Madam, I’ll take that room.” Her expression softened. “Thank you.” Her gaze flicked to Georgette for a moment. “You too, milady.”
Mercy hugged her friend. “You won’t regret it, honest you won’t.”
“I regret it already.” Vesta fingered one of her silk gowns in the open wardrobe. “Don’t imagine a lady’s maid has any call to wear something as grand as this.”
“Sure I do. There’s a Ladies’ Maids’ Ball coming up and I plan to deck myself out like a duchess. No offence, milady, ye bein’ only a marquis’s daughter and all.” Mercy cast a lopsided grin at Georgette in apology and turned back to her friend. “Besides, ye might decide to do something different than me. Something ye haven’t even dreamed before. Trust me, Vesta. Life is ever so much sweeter when ye get to do the deciding for yerself.”
“We should leave you two to do some packing.” Nathaniel turned and offered Georgette his arm. “My lady, would you care to accompany me while I do business with Madam Bouchard?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Once they cleared the doorway, she hissed, “Where did you get so much money that you can run around Covent Garden clearing the debts of fallen women?”
“I won more than the deed to the House of Sirens in that poque game. If I didn’t spend it on this, I’d just waste it paying off my tailor.” He covered her hand with his. “Mercy’s right, you know.”
“In what way?”
“Life is sweeter when you do the deciding for yourself. When are you going to give that a try?”
Fourteen
Normally, Georgette slept well when it rained, pulling the bed linens up to her nose and reveling in the snug feeling of being warm and dry and safe.
This was not a normal night.
But then she’d never had any carnal experience to draw upon in order to breathe life into the words before. Now her imagination, always prodigious, danced about like a drunken nymph at a bacchanalia.
During the day, she kept busy with fittings for her new ball gown, social calls, and all manner of honorable pursuits. But at the most inopportune times, her mind would drift back to that night in the ballroom and the waltz that upturned her world.
Only yesterday at Lady Hepplewhite’s luncheon, Georgette mentally wandered off somewhere between the cucumber sandwiches and lemon cake. Sitting there surrounded by worthy matrons and tittering debutants, all she could think of was the feel of Nate’s mouth on her breast and the wicked sensation of his hand between her thighs. Lady Hepplewhite had to ask her twice about the upcoming ball. Her mother was quick to excuse Georgette’s wool-gathering as maidenly anticipation of a grand event.
If her mother had been able to read her mind, she’d have been shocked into apoplexy.
Now at night in her own chamber, there was nothing to call Georgette back from her shocking thoughts. She smoothed the coverlet over her breasts, tried to ignore the way the tips ached, and resumed reading the courtesan’s memoirs.
And if there is no gentleman available to give her ease, a lady can always take matters into her own hands, as it were, Madam Charpentier suggested.
Oh, bother! Georgette tossed the little gilt-edged book across the room. It smacked the wall with a satisfying thud and slid to land facedown, the spine cracked wide open.
Georgette regretted giving in to the fit of pique almost instantly. That thud might bring Mercy, or worse, her mother, to investigate. She held her breath, listening for sounds of anyone stirring in the great house.