by Lauren Smith
“Excellent.” Martin passed by Livvy to sit in a chair by a trio of mirrors and a small raised platform. She knew she would soon be standing on the short dais, feeling Martin’s eyes roam over her body as he dressed her to his satisfaction.
“This way.” Mrs. Benson motioned for her to go behind a changing screen. She soon returned with several gowns of various colors.
“Let’s try a few of these. And I will get your measurements for the rest of the gowns.”
Livvy picked up the first gown on top of the pile Mrs. Benson had set before her. She sighed heavily. It was a lovely blue silk gown the color of a summer sky. She couldn’t help but swoon at the expensive clothes. There was nothing lovelier in the world than to feel the sweet slide of silk upon one’s skin or to twirl before a mirror as her netting overskirts sparkled in the candlelight. Every woman liked to feel beautiful, and Livvy was no different. The dresses here were far above those she would have chosen for herself. Expensive, finely made. She would even be able to keep them…as payment for being Martin’s kept woman.
The dreamy smile on her lips wilted. How was she going to get through this with her pride intact?
5
Martin leaned back in the chair, sipping the tea the shopgirl had brought him. He had sat in this chair on more than one occasion, watching his mistresses try on gowns, flashing saucy grins or batting their lashes, hoping for extra boots or kid gloves. He had smiled back and given in, buying the lady whatever she desired.
Mrs. Benson was right. This was different.
Livvy was innocent and sweet, but not a woman easily pushed. He liked that. He’d never been attracted to women who bowed and scraped in deference to men.
His gaze turned to the changing screen when a flash of movement caught his eye. Mrs. Benson emerged, smiling broadly as she waved a coaxing hand at Livvy. As she exited the shield of the screen and stepped out onto the platform in front of the mirrors, his breath caught. His pulse quickened in longing as he stared at the beautiful gown that clung to the gentle curve of her hips and breasts. She ducked her head shyly at his continued stare, but he didn’t care. He wished to take his fill, sate himself on the sight of her.
“The gown is perfect for her in length and needs no adjustments,” Mrs. Benson said, pointing out the elements of the gown. The orange ribbon around her waist accented the light blue gown and put her breasts on display. The fabric was watered silk, and it accented Livvy’s contours to their advantage.
“What do you think, Livvy? Do you like it?” Martin asked.
She blinked as though startled by his asking her. “Why—yes. I do love the colors,” she admitted with a blush. Her alabaster skin warmed to the most delicious pink, and he wondered if the rest of her would blush as prettily as she lay beneath him writhing in pleasure.
“Mrs. Benson, we shall take it. What else do you have? She will need several gowns to start and a cloak, boots, gloves, slippers, extra chemises, and stockings, I imagine. As well as the usual nightclothes.”
Mrs. Benson nodded. “We have several nightgowns I think will be ideal.” She walked over to a counter and removed a box, lifting the lid and unfolding the tissue paper to lift up a diaphanous nightgown. The material was so sheer that Livvy gasped. Martin chuckled. The look of scandalized fright on her was comical. She knew he would see every bit of her beneath the thin fabric but she would come to love it. Once she allowed him to teach her the joys he had to offer, she would be excited to wear it.
“And this?” Mrs. Benson set the nightgown aside and retrieved a dark-blue and gold embroidered cloak, with ermine trim around the hood. She wrapped it around Livvy and tested the hood.
Martin nodded. “Yes, it’s perfect.” He reached up to caress the fur of the hood, and Livvy tried to turn away, her cheeks now a dark rouge.
“You look exquisite,” he said. “You shouldn’t hide, not from me.”
The fire that suddenly blazed in her eyes surprised him. “You need not remind me that I belong to you.”
He frowned. “I meant only that you should enjoy these clothes. Do not shy away from them, just because I happen to be looking at you.” Despite their unusual circumstances, he wanted her to embrace her own passions and pride herself in her beauty, because she was beautiful.
“What else do you require? A few ball gowns, a riding habit?” he asked.
“Mr. Banks, I have some fashion plates from the Lady’s Magazine if you would like to see them,” said Mrs. Benson.
“Yes, thank you.” He guided Livvy off the platform, and they joined the dressmaker at the counter to peruse the plates. At first Livvy held her tongue, but Martin continued to nudge her with questions, and soon she was excitedly discussing cuts of fabric, trimmings, and a variety of dresses: morning, walking, opera, evening gowns. He’d forgotten how many kinds of gowns a woman needed. The expense didn’t matter; he simply found the amount of effort involved staggering.
“Mr. Banks, what do you think?” Livvy pointed at an evening gown plate. It was colored, done by Mrs. Benson no doubt to entice customers. “She says it can be made in any color. Bishops blue, or even Devonshire brown?”
“Devonshire brown,” he replied. The rich brown color held a reddish tint which would accent the color of her dark hair and warm hazel eyes. He couldn’t help but think of the last time he’d been here, with Stella, the opera singer. She would whisper suggestive comments in his ear about how lovely it would be for him to strip her of her new gown.
He shrugged off the memory and focused on Livvy and the sweet, hopeful way she eyed the dresses. There was no pretense of flirtation, no coy seduction involved. She was open and honest in her emotions, even the negative ones. And right now she stared at the Devonshire brown gown with such longing that it made him wish to give her the world on a silver platter.
“Excellent choice, Mr. Banks, most excellent,” the modiste said. “That’s it. We have you all settled for clothes.”
Martin was disappointed that they were done. He would have much preferred to stay there and watch Livvy try on a dozen more dresses, perhaps even show him silk stockings and… He stopped his train of thought before his arousal went beyond a point which he could control.
I am not a monster. I am a gentleman, and she is my companion. She will not be touched unless she asks me to touch her.
Livvy thanked the woman and went to a display of reticules. Martin watched with amusement as she opened several, studying them closely, and then turned to face him, one clutched to her breast, but she blushed when she seemed to realize that she’d been about to ask him to buy it.
“Bring it over.” He smiled, and his heart gave a strange little flip when she joined him and added the dark-green reticule to the pile.
“Thank you,” she said shyly.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. He despised her father, but as long as Livvy stayed with him, her happiness mattered. A happy woman out of bed usually meant a playful, affectionate lover in bed.
“I’ll have the remaining gowns delivered late next week.” Mrs. Benson and her shopgirl packed up the gowns and other items in beautiful colored boxes. Martin summoned his coach to have the items loaded inside. He insisted on the cloak remaining unpacked, and he placed it around Livvy’s shoulders. Then he thanked Mrs. Benson and stepped out into the street.
“Where should we go now?” Livvy asked.
“I think I know just the place.” He helped her into the coach, but he did not share their destination.
“Piccadilly, please,” he said to the driver before he joined her in the coach.
The coach dropped them off at number 187 Piccadilly in front of a shop named Hatchard’s. Livvy looked up at the store windows and realized where he had brought her. Her lovely eyes brightened with tears.
“Books?” she breathed, a delicate smile flitting about her lips.
“My library, while extensive, is lacking in books that entertain. I thought you could help me add to my collection. Are you up to the challenge?” Aft
er last night, he had a feeling that books would cheer her up.
She nodded enthusiastically and practically sprinted to the door. Again, his heart gave a strange flutter as he saw the joy on her face. He followed her inside and paused to take in the clublike atmosphere of the shop. There was a fireplace with the day’s papers spread out for reading. Benches lined the walls for servants to wait upon their masters and mistresses. The shop was warm and inviting, and quite a few people had stepped inside to escape London’s bitter winter. Livvy was already plucking titles from the shelves, and she returned to him with a stack nearly up to her chin.
“Set them down. Let’s have a look.” He gestured to the two chairs by the fire, and he moved the papers out of the way. Livvy placed the books down and picked up the top novel, handing it to him.
“Roche’s The Discarded Son?”
“It’s a horror tale; I thought you might prefer that to Gothic novels.”
He chuckled. “No Mysteries of Udolpho, eh?” He had heard of Mrs. Radcliffe’s Gothic novels many times, but he’d never read them.
She bit her lip. “No, not unless you want that.”
“What’s next?” He chose another book. “The Mutual Attachment?”
“Oh that’s…” She tried to take it from him, but he kept it out of her reach.
“A romantic novel?” he asked as he flipped through the pages.
“Yes. I thought it might be for me.”
“Then we must purchase it, of course.” He picked up the next book, which he realized was actually a trio of slender volumes bound in leather and trimmed in gilt.
“Glenarvon.” She whispered the title, clearly scandalized, judging from the red flush of her cheeks.
He chuckled again, stroking the spine of the first volume. “Lady Caroline Lamb’s thinly disguised tell-all. The titular fellow is Lord Byron, I hear. She thought it would resurrect her dead social life, but it has had the opposite effect.”
“Yes, quite true. But I’ve always longed to read them.” She collected the rest of the books, and he took them from her.
“Allow me. Please, take another look and make sure there aren’t any others that you wish for me to purchase.”
“These are plenty.”
He quirked a brow. “Are you sure? I don’t mind and can easily afford more.”
She bit her lip in a way that filled him with a desire to take her in his arms, but he resisted. “Go on,” he encouraged and shooed her away.
She returned to the shelves, her head tilted at an angle to better read the spines. Martin carried the chosen books to a bookshop clerk, who began wrapping them and tabulating the prices. By the time Livvy returned with a second stack of books, the clerk’s eyes were round with delighted surprise. Martin summoned his coach again and had the books carefully loaded into a trunk at the back of the conveyance.
“Where are we off to next?” Livvy asked, her spirits certainly brightening a bit.
“We still need to visit a shoemaker and a milliner. Then I must run an errand while you remain at the house.”
Her smile wilted a little, but she didn’t argue. He couldn’t tell her about his secret errand. If he could take her, he would have, but ladies did not visit Tattersall’s horse auction house.
I will buy her the most beautiful mare in London, and she will ride beside me with pride in Hyde Park.
Two hours later, he deposited Livvy back at his house. It took three footmen to carry the massive hatboxes, dress boxes, shoeboxes, and the packages of books inside. Once the carriage was emptied, he instructed his coachman where next to go.
The auctioneering yard at Tattersall’s consisted of many stables, loose boxes, and an enclosure for watching the paces of thoroughbreds put up for sale. Martin walked past the enclosure, noticing a bust of King George IV in the cupola in the center. Despite the cold weather, there were quite a few men watching the horses in the pacing enclosure.
“Banks!” someone called out.
Martin turned to see a familiar face. “Lord Sheridan!” He clasped Cedric Sheridan’s hand. The viscount grinned and pointed toward the enclosure.
“Here for a piece of horseflesh? I have one to sell if you are.”
“I am, actually.” Martin followed Cedric’s pointing hand. There was a dappled gray mare with a black mane and black stockings that was proudly prancing around.
“She’s stunning,” Banks said. He and Cedric leaned over the edge of the paddock to get a better look at the mares. “How much are you asking for her?”
Cedric whistled, and the groom leading the mare around brought her to them. Martin reached out and brushed a hand over the mare’s nose. She blinked at him, her dark brown eyes assessing him, but she wasn’t unfriendly.
“I’m thinking a thousand guineas.”
“What’s her breeding history?”
Cedric smiled and patted her neck. “She was sired by a thoroughbred and born from one of my pure Arabian mares. I can provide a pedigree.”
“How old is she?”
“Three years,” Cedric replied.
Martin studied her teeth and legs, watching the groom with her hooves. She was a patient beast and took sugar cubes from Cedric eagerly. There was a delightful ladylike quality to her that reminded him of Livvy.
“A thousand guineas?”
“Yes. You have her in mind for someone?” Cedric grinned. “I thought you and your mistress separated. Went to France, I hear?”
“She did. I have a new companion. This mare would be perfect for her. A thousand guineas is a bit steep, but she looks to be worth it.” He held out his hand, and Cedric shook on the offer. They made arrangements to have the mare brought to the house tomorrow morning.
Livvy was going to love this horse. And maybe then she would love him.
The thought came out of nowhere, and he quickly shoved it aside. He didn’t want her love. He was quite fine without that. Besides, he could never love the daughter of the man who destroyed his life all those years ago. He couldn’t deny he felt a certain pleasure knowing he was nice and gentlemanly to her while her father and mother were likely panicking.
He was still lost in thoughts of the past as he left the auctioneering yard and returned to his coach.
“Home, sir?” the driver asked.
“Yes—wait, not yet. Take me to Oxford Street. I need to visit a jewelers.”
“Yes, sir.” Martin climbed into the coach and gazed out the window as the coach jerked forward.
The London winter was beautiful when snow coated the tops of the houses and merry light illuminated the windows of the houses in the fashionable parts of town. He knew how harsh it could be too. After Hartwell had evicted his family, they had been forced to rent a tiny two-bedroom living space. They’d lived in near squalor for months. They had buried his mother, and for an entire year, he, his father, and Helen had been in mourning.
Martin closed his eyes, still feeling the biting chill of the air as he remembered standing at his mother’s grave, watching the freshly dug dirt covered with falling snow. The pain in his chest had nearly choked him. Despair dwelled in the crumbling ruins of his soul. He felt like the sun would never shine again, and yet…
Something had changed. The moment Livvy had burst into the drawing room, he’d felt it. The soft stirrings of sunlight upon his battered soul. He didn’t want to admit that she’d raised such feelings in him, but she did.
It would be unfair to ignore how much she makes me feel, wouldn’t it?
He did not want to think about how it would be when she left.
When the coach stopped at his favorite jewelers, he went inside, examining the glass cases of various necklaces, brooches, and earrings.
An elderly man with a kind smile greeted him. “Mr. Banks.”
“How are you, Harold?” He shook the man’s hand. He had known Harold Garland for several years now.
“I’m well, thanks to you. The bonds you recommended have been doing well.”
“Glad to hea
r it.” Martin always loved to hear when his advice was heeded by a friend and that it had paid off.
“What are you looking for today?”
Martin studied the jewelry laid out in front of him, frowning a little.
“Pearls, I think.” He could picture pearls around Livvy’s neck and how they would accent her lovely skin.
“Pearls, let me see…” Harold bent down and brought up a case and set it on the counter.
“coque de perle earrings?” He removed two earrings and set them on a velvet cloth on the counter. The earrings were large, with oval-shaped pearls forming a sort of delicate cluster that dangled from the posts.
“Coque de perle?” Martin had never heard that term before.
“It is French. They are cut from East Indian nautilus shells similar to pearls. It’s actually a shell rather than a regular pearl. But they look just like pearls. More unique, you see, and quite popular in France at the moment.”
Martin held up the earrings, marveling at the beautiful gold backings and their relative light weight. It would look stunning, yet not too extravagant, nor would they be too heavy on Livvy’s ears.
“And this to complement?” Harold held up a single strand of lustrous pearls held together by a gold clasp. “Elegant, refined, but exquisite in taste.”
Martin lifted the pearl necklace, brushing his thumb over the rounded pearls, feeling the silky textures.
“Yes, I shall take them.”
“Excellent. I’ll box them up for you and put them on your account.” Harold quickly took the jewels and velvet pouches and placed them in sleek black boxes.
“The lady is very lucky,” he said, handing them over.
“She is.” Martin chuckled, but he also felt lucky to have such a sweet woman who belonged only to him. He left the jewelers with a spring in his step. Tonight they would have a quiet dinner together, and then he would begin his seduction. Slow as he needed to be until she was begging to be taken to bed. For the first time in months, he couldn’t stop smiling.
6
