An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
Page 19
Before she could give the matter any further thought, the carriage came to a halt. Thank God, as she didn’t want to explore these unwanted feelings and sensations. She was not letting the man get anywhere near her heart.
The door opened. Rexton disembarked, then handed her down. They both wore gloves. She wished they didn’t.
The glow from the streetlamps revealed a monstrously large but relatively plain brick building. An enormous sign proclaimed Durham Amusements.
Such an innocuous name for the sort of wicked amusements she suspected were housed in a place on the outskirts of the city. Although she saw no one else about, it was obviously opened to customers this time of night. She imagined peep shows, orgies, decadence, and other sinful activities. Rexton’s secrets: he dabbled in the pornographic.
He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
She should emphatically state “No!” She should return to the carriage, make clear she didn’t approve of such debauchery. But her curiosity got the better of her. She’d heard whispers about these places, had overheard Downie speaking with his friends about them. Rexton couldn’t force her to participate, but to have a look, to confirm the goings-on was tempting beyond measure, could prove interesting and educational. A woman was wise to be as informed as possible, something she’d learned a bit too late. With her knowledge, she could write a letter to the Times, alert the constabulary. Perhaps she could bring about some good.
With a jerky nod, she placed her hand on his arm. “I’m not familiar with this place.”
“Few people are. It took considerable research on my part to find it.”
He began leading her toward the massive door. Two doors actually, and she imagined the dissolute streaming in during the late hours for surely this sort of decadence only occurred after good folk were abed. “Do you come here often?”
“Every couple of weeks. I’m fascinated by what transpires inside.”
She wished she didn’t know this about him, didn’t want the details of his life to sully her opinion of him. It was always impossible to know everything about a person. How could she ensure Gina didn’t end up with a man of perversions?
He rapped loudly on the door. Waited. Laid his hand protectively over hers where it rested on his arm as though he sensed it—along with her—might take flight.
Finally a tall, burly man opened it. His thick brown beard hid most of his smile. “My lord.”
“Mr. Durham, I do appreciate your making special arrangements to be open to us tonight.”
“The blunt you paid me, my lord, ensures I’ll open anytime you so wish.”
Was he paying for private entertainments? If so, she didn’t have to worry about being spotted or recognized.
“Allow me to introduce my friend Miss Tillie,” Rexton said.
She appreciated the fact he was giving her some anonymity, that she would be able to deny ever being within the walls of this audacious establishment.
Mr. Durham touched two fingers to his brow. “Welcome, miss. Do come in.”
He stepped back.
With a deep breath and steeling herself against the naughty sights that might greet her, Tillie launched herself over the threshold and came up short as the fragrance of freshly hewn wood and newly applied paint assailed her nostrils, not unpleasantly so, but definitely overwhelmingly so. Not surprising as sawdust and wood shavings littered the floor. The cavernous structure was a woodworking workshop. No more than that.
In the far left corner was a gloriously beautiful carousel with an elaborate canopy that she could only describe as a work of art. The horses, in different colors and various poses, were lined up along the circular platform. She couldn’t imagine the amount of time, effort, and dedication that had gone into making something so exquisite.
“You make roundabouts,” she said in awe, abashed and pleased that the expected nefarious undertaking had turned out to be something that brought naught but delight into lives.
“Indeed we do, miss. Would you care to see the one we’re crafting for his Lordship?”
She turned her attention to Rexton. His eyes were glinting with amusement and mischief. To her mortification, she suspected he might have discerned the path her mind had traveled before they’d walked through the door, was rather certain he’d been deliberately mysterious with his answers in order to surprise her. “You’re having one built?”
“For the family estate. For my nieces and nephews to enjoy.”
“I would like to see it, yes.”
“This way then, miss, my lord.”
Rexton offered his arm. She took it, feeling as though he were escorting her through a magical place. They passed tables where blocks of wood were in various stages of carving: a head here, a body there, legs over there. She was amazed by the amount of work that each horse took to shape, assemble, paint.
“Each of his carvers specializes in some part of the animal,” Rexton said quietly.
“You’ve watched them work.”
“For hours. As I mentioned, it fascinates me to observe as a block of wood become a work of art.”
That wasn’t exactly what he’d said. Fascinated, yes, but he’d stopped there, allowing her mind to wander down wicked passageways. She adored carousels but never in a million years would she consider having one created for her personally. That he had thought to have one made for the children in his family touched her in ways that left her reeling with grand emotions she’d not felt in a good long while. What sort of man was he to give so much thought to what might bring joy to children?
As they neared some horses supported in containers, Mr. Durham said, “Watch your skirts, miss. Some of the paint is still wet.”
She didn’t care about getting paint on her clothing, but she was concerned she might ruin the fine artistry. The craftsmanship was incredible, with intricate detailing that must have taken hours to accomplish.
They reached an area where a small carousel, about half the size of the one she’d first spotted, was on display. Only two animals were positioned on the platform: a lion and a tiger. Nearby rested a bear, a giraffe, a camel.
“It’s a menagerie,” she said in awe. She’d never seen the like. Every roundabout she’d seen had included horses, some an occasional bench.
“I thought the children would grow bored if they were all ponies,” Rexton said. “A dozen animals will circle the platform when it’s completed. Mr. Durham has created a system of mechanisms so we can crank it up and it should circle around for a bit before it comes to a stop.”
“It’s a unique and wonderful gift.” She looked up at him, could see how pleased he was with the work that had been done. How unusual for a man to care so much about a child’s happiness. “I’m sure they’ll enjoy it very much.”
He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “It’s a selfish endeavor. My hope is that it will reduce the number of requests I receive for rides upon my back.”
He played with his nieces and nephews, gave them attention. She couldn’t recall any fun memories with her uncle. Before she’d grown up, he’d often repeated the adage that children were to be seen and not heard. He took it quite literally. He looked but he never held. He spoke at but never with. Her opinion and interests were never explored. “They’re very fortunate to have you as an uncle.”
“Careful, you’ll make my head swell.”
She very much doubted that. Glancing around, she saw the body of a brown horse. Nearby was the head, adorned with a bridle of delicate red roses. “Fair Vixen, I assume.”
“As close as possible.”
“Do you really deck her out in roses?”
“No, but my niece informed me I should, that it would make her feel more a lady.”
“Wise girl, your niece.”
“Mr. Durham is almost finished with her. But she requires one more thing. A secret. I thought perhaps you would do the honors.”
She furrowed her brow. “Pardon?”
“Explain to her please, Mr. Durham.”
She walked over to the body of the horse, aware of Rexton following her. Mr. Durham was pointing into the neck.
“That little hollow space remains when the head is fitted on. It’s considered good luck to leave a message inside.”
“But no one will ever see it.”
“Which makes it the perfect place for secrets,” Rexton said near her ear.
“I don’t know about that, my lord,” Mr. Durham said. “The weather will take a toll on this handiwork. It might need repairing someday. The note could be discovered then.”
“But we shall be long gone. Think of the stories that will be woven around the mysterious words left behind. Words left by lovers, perhaps.”
They were going to be lovers, soon, so very soon. “Will you write a note?” she asked. “Dare to reveal a secret to the gods of amusements?”
In acquiescence, he dipped his head slightly.
“But we shan’t look at each other’s,” she insisted. “The secrets must remain secrets.”
“I would have it no other way.”
“You can’t cheat, sneak back here and have a look.”
His devilish grin did funny things to her stomach. “On this matter, I will not cheat. We’ll place our confidences in Mr. Durham’s keeping and he’ll seal up the horse tonight, before we leave.”
She nodded, although she feared she might be proven a fool for putting to paper what she was thinking. But there was a deliciousness to it, to knowing she could put into permanence words that no one would ever see—at least during her lifetime. “All right then. I don’t see how any harm will come of it.”
“Have you something upon which we can write, Mr. Durham?” Rexton asked, moving away from her.
“Bits of foolscap over here, my lord. You can tie it off with string.”
She couldn’t help but believe Rexton had discussed all this with Mr. Durham in advance, before he’d brought her here, as everything was laid out on an exceedingly clean and organized table. After dipping pen in inkwell, she composed her note, rolled it up, and wrapped a piece of string around it to secure it. She walked over to the horse and carefully placed the revelation that caused her heart to pump wildly into the small hollow of its neck, wondering what stories might be woven around it if it were indeed discovered years hence.
Rexton dropped his contribution inside. He winked. “Did you write something naughty?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would, yes.”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “Pity then as I shall never tell.”
“Aren’t you curious about what I wrote?”
More than she’d ever admit. “Not particularly.”
He leaned in. “Little liar.” Then he watched her as though searching for something. “Mr. Durham, would it be possible to give my lady a ride on your carousel while you’re sealing up our secrets?”
“Absolutely, my lord.”
She knew her eyes widened. “The roundabout works?”
“It does. He keeps it as an example of his craftsmanship.” This time instead of offering his arm, he closed his hand around hers. “Come along. His is only horses, but each one is different. You can select the one you like best.”
She chose a white prancing horse with a red rose carved into its bridle. Rexton lifted her onto it so she was sitting almost sidesaddle. Clutching the pole, she noticed the gears overhead beneath the canopy. “That’s elaborate.”
“I suspect you’ve never ridden on one quite like this. Mr. Durham enjoys tinkering.”
The man to whom he’d alluded emerged through a door from what appeared to be a small room in the center of the contraption. “Ready, my lord?”
“Yes, Mr. Durham.”
“Aren’t you going to get on a horse?” she asked Rexton.
“Places too much distance between us.”
Mr. Durham disappeared inside. The roundabout gave a jerk before slowly starting to move. He came out, dashed over the platform, and leaped to the floor. “It’ll go until it runs out of steam.”
He headed back to where their secrets waited to be sealed, leaving them quite alone.
The horse she sat upon began to gradually rise. It peaked, then slid down. Back up—
It was almost like being in a steeplechase—not nearly as thrilling but exceedingly joyous. It caused an incredible lightening of her heart, as though her life had yet to be touched by disappointments and disenchantment.
“There,” Rexton said quietly, his bared hand—when had he removed his gloves?—cradling her jaw, his thumb touching the uplifted corner of her mouth. “That’s what I wanted to see. Your smile.”
She couldn’t look away from him, from the way his eyes studied her lips as though he’d never seen anything quite as enchanting, as remarkable.
“I’ve never seen you smile before. Not from pure pleasure. It’s lovely.” He lifted his gaze, held hers as though he might never release it. “I knew it would be.”
The wonder in his voice, the gladness of it signaling his joy at seeing her smile touched something deep inside her, something she’d thought locked away forever.
“A roundabout makes one feel carefree.” Although unable to breathe apparently, as she sounded rather breathless. However, it could have been because she was noticing how rough the edges of his fingers were, how delicious it might feel to have them gliding over the sensitive skin of her breasts, circling her nipples, pinching them.
He scraped his thumb over her lower lip. “Did he steal them from you? Your smiles?”
She didn’t need to ask to whom he was referring. “I don’t want to talk about him. Not when we’re together. All of that is best forgotten.”
“Tell me he deserves it and I shall see him ruined.”
Her stomach tightened with the knowledge he would do that for her. No one, not even her father, had ever wondered if the blame for her actions should have been laid at Downie’s feet. She shook her head. “He doesn’t deserve ruination.”
He studied her as though he suspected her of lying.
“I was a silly girl. I’ll say no more than that. Don’t ruin this moment by pressing for more.”
“I want your smiles. I want your laughter.”
“I want your kiss.” She’d never been so bold as to state what she wanted when it came to what transpired between a man and a woman.
His eyes darkened. He moved in. The damned horse carried her away. Brought her back. His lips touched hers for only a fleeting moment and then they were again separated. Up and down she went. A touch. A separation.
The ride began to slow. The horse lowered and stayed where it was. Rexton placed his hand behind her head and guided her toward him, opening his mouth to hers. He didn’t need to prod her this time, didn’t need to entice her into parting her lips. She wanted to taste him fully, to stroke her tongue over his, rough velvet to rough velvet. Her position on the horse put her just a little higher than him. She liked the angle, the way he bent his head back, how easily she could scrape her fingers through his hair. She did wish she’d removed her gloves, but she didn’t want to stop now to do so. She simply wanted to remain lost in the sensations coursing through her.
With his mouth alone he elicited sparks of pleasure that danced along her nerve endings. She couldn’t imagine how marvelous it would be when his entire body was involved. With his hands clamped around her waist, he slowly slid her off the wooden horse and held her aloft as though she were spun from moonbeams. Quarter inch by tormented quarter inch, he lowered her to the platform, her body pressed to his so she was aware of buttons and bulges.
Drawing back, he pressed a kiss to her chin, her temple—and held her there, his harsh breath rasping against her ear as though he’d dashed up a towering hill. “I told Mr. Durham we would be only an hour.”
With her face pressed to his chest, she could hear the thudding of his heart. “We should be off then.”
“Yes.”
&nbs
p; Leaning away, he reached down and took her hand. “You may have well ruined roundabouts for me. I won’t be able to look at one without thinking of you.”
She couldn’t recall anyone offering her such a beautiful sentiment. And she wouldn’t be able to look at one without remembering the night she might have fallen a little bit in love with him.
He wanted to hold her, kiss her, take her to his residence and make wild, passionate love to her until dawn. Instead he sat opposite her in the coach because he didn’t intend to take her quickly or like a savage—and he wanted her so badly he wasn’t certain he could restrain himself.
Her smile . . . her smile had unmanned him.
“Your own children will play on that roundabout,” she said quietly, gazing out the window.
He’d drawn the curtains aside. The inside of the carriage was dark. No one was going to be able to make out their features. His coachman and footman weren’t in livery. They’d actually embraced the notion of going on a clandestine outing. He’d left disguising themselves to them. They’d done a remarkable job. “I suppose they will, yes.”
“Gina is correct. You’re getting up in years. You can’t put off marriage much longer, not if you want a young wife.”
He wondered what she was thinking, why she was discussing his future. “I may have already missed the mark on that. Do you know what my first thought was when I was introduced to Gina?”
She turned her head to look at him. “That she was beautiful?”
“That she was a child. To be honest, I can’t see myself with any of these debutantes. They have no life experience. They’re all innocent and naïve and . . . they’re not women.” But she was a woman. She wasn’t innocent. She had experience. A great deal of experience.
“Why the footman?” he heard himself ask. It was ridiculous to be envious of a servant, and yet he was. Outlandishly so.
She looked back out the window. “I was lonely. And he was kind.”
He wanted to ask in what manner, what had he done precisely. Because Rexton would duplicate it. Whatever she required, whatever she needed. Again, ludicrous thoughts as he wasn’t going to emulate the actions of another man. He’d never felt the need to imitate. “Kind in what way precisely?”