by Lauren Smith
Livvy was curled up in a chair in the library reading Glenarvon and enjoying every deliciously scandalous page when she heard Martin return. She couldn’t help but wonder what other errands he had seen to after he had taken her back to the townhouse. She closed her book and left her chair, creeping up to the library door. It was only open a crack, and she could hear Martin speaking.
“Everything go well this afternoon?” Harris inquired.
“Yes, perfect. I’ve an excellent mare at my disposal now, and a bit of jewelry should ease her temper a bit.”
Livvy winced. He truly thought so little of her that he would liken her to a broodmare? And jewelry was supposed to appease her? She balled her fists.
“Where is she, by the way?” Martin asked.
Sparking mad, Livvy shoved the library door open and eyed Martin coldly.
“You’re broodmare is right here.”
Martin blinked and then burst out laughing. He couldn’t even pretend to be embarrassed for being caught saying such things? She almost slapped him.
He walked up to her and cupped her chin, still smiling. She tried to pull away.
“You weren’t the mare I was referring to. I bought a horse for you and had every intention of making it a surprise until I saw how upset you were just now.”
“You bought me a horse?” Embarrassment blossomed across her face. She’d been almost shouting at him while his butler was still present, ready to rail about how perfectly dreadful he was. Shame dug its claws into her, and she wanted to vanish somewhere until the feeling passed.
“Yes, I bought one from a friend. Viscount Sheridan has been breeding Arabians with thoroughbreds. The mare is…well, I will let you see her tomorrow, and you may share your thoughts then.”
“I… I’m sorry. My outburst was misguided and inexcusable—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “You need not apologize. I’m quite deserving of your anger and suspicion given how we met and…”
Though she did not say it, she knew he was thinking about how she belonged to him. It only added to her already conflicted feelings.
Martin removed a pocket watch from his waistcoat and examined the time.
“An hour until dinner Why don’t you change and meet me in the dining room at seven?” His blue eyes were soft and kind, too kind. She wanted to hate him, and yet she couldn’t.
She nodded and rushed up the stairs. Shame still prickled beneath her skin. Mellie was in the hallway carrying some of Livvy’s new clothes, freshly pressed.
“Time for dinner, miss?” the lady’s maid asked.
“Yes.” She followed Mellie to her bedchamber and sat down to wait for the maid to display her options. There was the Devonshire brown evening gown, a cream gown with gold gauze overlay, and a capuchin dark-orange gown. Livvy and Mellie examined all the outfits.
“You’re in tonight for dinner, so perhaps the Devonshire brown? It’s a simple cut but a stunning color,” Mellie suggested.
“I think you’re right.” She turned her back, allowing Mellie to unfasten the gown for her, and Mellie offered her fresh stockings and dark-gold slippers.
“May I dispose of these?” The maid lifted the thrice-mended stockings.
“Yes, I have more than enough pairs now.” Martin had bought her a dozen pairs of stockings. It was far too much money to spend, but she had to admit she liked the idea of enjoying a little luxury.
She put on the stockings and tightened the ribbons, then put on her new petticoats, chemise, and stays before Mellie assisted her with the gown. The sleeves were long down to her wrists and puffed out at the shoulders like mutton legs, but she liked the flexibility of the brown satin gown. There was a reddish hue to it under a certain light that made the gown glow with color.
“Your hair?” Mellie finished putting up the back of her gown and led her to the vanity table. “I was thinking a chignon on the back and curls at the front and sides.”
“That sounds lovely.” Livvy missed having an accomplished hairdresser at her disposal. Their single maid had been adequate, but the styles she was most comfortable with were severely outdated. She’d also been forced to spend most of her time cleaning and couldn’t attend to Livvy or her mother as much as they might have wished.
Mellie selected a mother-of-pearl comb Martin had purchased this afternoon. The comb ran through her hair, and for a moment neither woman spoke.
“Have you worked for Mr. Banks for very long?” Livvy finally asked.
The maid stroked her hair again. “Two years. He’s a fair and kind master, if that’s what you’re asking. Never takes liberties, if you know what I mean.”
“I do.” Livvy cringed. She may be innocent, but she knew that female servants were often at the mercy of their masters.
“What… What were his other mistresses like?”
Mellie giggled. “I’m surprised you’re only asking now. I would’ve asked last night.” Her open honesty made Livvy smile.
“I was a bit overwhelmed last night. I still am, to be honest, but I’m starting to understand what it means to be here…like this.”
The maid set the brush aside and began binding back her hair to style it.
“Most of them were fancy birds, but none so sweet as you. He usually has opera singers or ballet dancers or courtesans. You’re the first real genteel lady to be here.”
That surprised her little. She had wondered if Martin had blackmailed other ladies before, but it didn’t sound like it.
“Has he ever had a woman come here for…” She couldn’t find a way to pleasantly say what she meant.
“For?” Mellie asked.
“Um… Well, I’m here because my father owes Mr. Banks money.”
Her maid gaped at her. “What?”
“Yes. I agreed to satisfy my father’s debt—ouch!” She winced when Mellie tugged part of her hair.
“I’m so sorry, miss. I was thinking of how I wanted to strangle him and pulled too hard.” Mellie’s face reddened with embarrassment.
“It’s all right,” Livvy assured her. “I wanted to strangle him too at first.”
“He’s never brought anyone else here for a reason like that. I thought he was a better man than that. Not that I ever said that to you, miss.”
“No, I understand your feelings,” Livvy muttered. “So, I am to be unique then. I cannot say whether that’s good or bad.”
“Perhaps good?” Mellie suggested. “He’s been different around you.”
“Different how?”
“Well, it’s only been a day, but I’d say he’s behaving…softer, more uncertain. Like a boy meeting a girl, not a man of eight and twenty.” Mellie continued to work with her hair until the style was complete. Lovely ringlets bounced on her cheeks, framing her face. “It’s a pity you have no jewelry. The gown would look lovely with some earbobs and a necklace.”
Livvy placed a hand to her bare throat, trying to picture it with jewels.
“It’s fine. I’m sure he won’t notice.” Mellie placed white flowers about each cluster of curls. The delicate floral scent would make a person think of gardens in the spring.
“Where did you find these flowers?” It was winter, and she didn’t think the maid would’ve gone to a florist.
“The master has little hothouse at the back.”
Hothouse? She loved flowers and decided she would ask him to show her tonight after dinner.
“There we are,” Mellie declared with a smile. “You’re ready.”
Livvy stood and glanced about for her shawl, the dark-gold one that matched most of her new gowns, and headed for the door. Martin was waiting at the base of the stairs. She held her breath when he glanced up and noticed her. He leaned against the banister, his physique well framed in buff trousers and a dark-blue waistcoat. She licked her lips as she descended the stairs toward him.
There was an untamed masculine pride that radiated off him. From the moment she had first seen him, he’d made her want to act reckless and dar
ing. Some secret part of her that she didn’t normally listen to imagined him kissing her, sliding those strong hands along her body and promising to do all the dark, delicious things that men did in her Gothic novels. She was a candlewick and he was a flame. What would happen between them would be inevitable, and she didn’t wish to deny her body’s own desires.
In that moment she made a decision. If her reputation or prospects did end up damaged, it would happen regardless of what did or did not happen within these walls. Therefore, she was free to choose whether or not anything did happen. She was here to be his companion, and he was a beautiful man. She wanted to enjoy her nights in his bed, and if she embraced the passion that his gaze promised, she might find some pleasure in it. Her mother had told her that women could enjoy the marriage bed if their partner was skilled. By the way Martin was watching her, she guessed he might be a talented lover indeed.
I will put my trust in him tonight. If he can give me pleasure, then perhaps my time here will be enjoyable.
“You look lovely,” he said as she reached him. “But something is missing.” His gaze slipped over her critically. “Ah yes…” He removed a black velvet pouch from behind his back and handed it to her. She took it, confused, and poured the contents into her hands. A pearl necklace and a pair of extravagant earrings fell into her palm.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I can’t—”
“Put them on. I wish to see them.” He gestured to a tall mirror that hung in the hall. She approached it, and he draped the necklace around her neck. Then she slipped the earbobs on. The effect was outstanding. The pearls on her skin accented the brown silk of the dress. He brushed his fingers along her neck. She wanted to sigh at how good it felt to be touched like that. He pressed ever so slightly into her body from behind in a way that made her skin flush all over as she imagined their bodies pressed together as one breathing being. He was hard, she was soft, yet together they would feel perfect. The thought was so terribly wicked and delightful that she knew it would take ages before she would cease blushing.
“You must take care to wear them often. Pearls are living things. They need to breathe, to be worn.” Martin’s soft, seductive voice made her tremble.
“They’re lovely.” She touched the beaded pearls at her collarbone, taking in the naturally silky feel of them. She’d never given a thought to pearls as living things before, but in a way it made sense. There was magic to the idea that those tiny glistening pearls would need sunlight and air as much as she did, and it made her love them all the more.
“My mother was never one for diamonds or any other jewels, but pearls were different,” said Mr. Banks. “She was fascinated by the idea that a simple clam could take a grain of sand, something so common and insignificant, and turn it into one of the most beautiful things on earth.”
Livvy was lost in his voice as he spoke. Her heart tore for him at the thought of losing his mother so young. He’d been a year younger than she was now. She could not imagine losing a parent, how it could break one’s heart.
But he survived, because he’s strong. Maybe being cold and heartless on the outside is what kept him safe? She had seen that infinite tenderness in his eyes for brief moments when he thought she could not see it. She’d seen the same in her father’s eyes when he looked upon her and her mother.
But I do see. There is goodness in you, and I won’t let the bad beginning between us, or our circumstances, ruin another moment of our time together.
She knew that a lesser man in his position would have taken advantage of her long before now. Yet Martin had not.
“Are you ready for dinner?” Martin’s gaze met hers in the reflection of the mirror.
She turned to face him, smiling a little shyly. “Yes.” She’d never dined alone with a man before.
“Good. My chef is most anxious to serve us some exquisite dishes of his own design. He’s French, and he knows his way about a kitchen.”
“You have a chef?” Livvy slipped her arm through his as he led her into the dining room. She couldn’t believe he’d hired a French chef. Only the truly wealthy did that.
“I do. He’s quite worth the extra expense.”
Martin’s dining room was lovely. Livvy took in the cherrywood paneling of the bottom half of the room and the dark bottle-green painted walls above the paneling. The dark-gray marble fireplace was the focus of the room, with a massive gilded mirror that reflected the light from the windows. Oriental rugs covered the floors, and a cherrywood table was set for dinner. A place was set at the head of the table and another close beside. It didn’t proclaim extravagance too loudly, but it did show the level of luxury Martin was accustomed to.
She pointed at a group of four portraits. “Who are they?”
One she was sure she recognized as a young Martin. His blue eyes were brave and yet kind in the oil painting. That was the man she imagined he’d once been. A man she would have fallen hopelessly in love with had they met under different circumstances.
His eyes softened as he studied the portraits, as though he were seeing his parents again in the flesh, not through layers of oil.
“They are my family. My parents, myself, and my twin, Helen.”
“Twin? You have a sister?”
He blushed a little, the height and color in his cheeks oddly charming. “Er… Yes. She lives near Bath.”
“Is she married?” Livvy knew she ought not pry, but she wanted to know more about him and his life.
“She is, to a man named Gareth Fairfax. They have two children, a little boy and a little girl.” He smiled as he pulled out a chair for her to sit. He then took his own seat, and a footman brought in a tray with two bowls of leek soup.
“Do you visit them often?” she asked before she tasted the soup. It was delicious. Normally she found leek soup a bit dull, but Martin’s chef had done something remarkable with it. Was that coriander she smelled?
“Not often enough. I find…” He paused and cleared his throat. “I tend to focus my time here in London, visiting the banks, watching my investments.”
“Sounds rather…productive.”
Mr. Banks smirked. “You mean dull.”
“Well, as stimulating as finances can be, it does sound like your experiences of living life are…limited?” She knew that probably upset him, but the truth was he had sounded bored saying it. He had a fortune, and he had a family, so he ought to be out in the world, living a life full of memories and adventures.
Martin chuckled. “Do they now? I think you’re right. I spent so many years attempting to ensure I had money and security, that I didn’t stop to ever actually enjoy myself.”
Livvy tilted her head, studying him. Was he being facetious?
Wade the footman came in, and the soup was cleared away. The servants next presented plates of goose, French beans, lobster, and a basket of pastries with a side dish of braised ham.
Martin sipped his wine, watching her as she tasted the goose. “If you had wealth and freedom, what would you do?”
“Me?” She was surprised he cared, but she daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin as he nodded for her to speak further. “Well, I suppose I would go to the opera, to the ballet, to plays. I would travel the world. I’ve always longed to see India.”
“That is quite a lot.”
She shrugged. “Life should be about experiences. If you stop and let yourself grow cold to the world around you, then you aren’t truly living.” She knew it was the wine that was freeing her tongue, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “My father has been badly off these last few years, and while I know there are many people worse off, I can’t help but feel sad not to have a chance to be out in the world among people. For years we have lived as poor as church mice, and my only escape has been through books. It’s why they are so important to me.” She finally stopped herself from continuing any further. “I’m sorry. I should not have spoken so…so—”
“Honestly?” Martin leaned back in his chair, his fingers stroking his c
hin as he studied her.
“Yes. Honestly is a nice word for my prattling on.”
“You fascinate me,” he said, his voice silky and low.
“Fascinate?” she repeated, her heart beating fast suddenly. She quickly focused on her meal, hoping he would change the subject. “I think you are exaggerating.”
He leaned forward and finally began to eat his own food. “What is it about India that interests you?”
“I’ve read several books about it. The colors, the warmth and the exotic feel of it draws me. But also the culture. I want to see places that are very different from England. I want to taste curry upon my tongue and watch the natives ride elephants and the women dance with golden bangles on the hems of their gowns and around their wrists.” She blushed, and went silent to monopolizing their dinner discussion. They were silent a moment longer before he spoke, his tone suddenly eager.
“I could take you to India.”
Their eyes met, and her heart skipped a beat as something unspoken seemed to pass between them. A lighthearted hope mixed with a heated desire to please each other.
“I have a few friends stationed there, you see. An army captain I know has often reminded me that I owe him a visit. We could go if you like.” He seemed to realize he’d been too hopeful, and his expression shuttered a little, as though he tried to put some distance between them. Still, she wanted to know if he truly meant that.
“You would take me to India?” He couldn’t be serious. India was so far away, and they were… Well, she wasn’t sure how to define their relationship except to say that she was his companion. Possibly his mistress. Did men take their mistresses to India? She almost giggled, damn the wine.
“I’ve never been, but I too have heard of its allure, and your desire has renewed my own interest in visiting. After the winter passes, we can book passage.”
After the winter passes? He planned to keep her past the holidays?
“Finish your dinner.” His words, gently spoken, broke through her scattered thoughts. She quickly finished her meal, her hands trembling.
“Tell the chef we’ll take the ices in my bedchamber—that is, if Miss Hartwell wishes to,” Martin told the footman before he began clearing plates away from the table. He looked to Livvy expectantly, and she knew she could say no, but she wanted to say yes.
