by Shana Galen
“Are you convincing yourself, Modesty, or me?”
“I don’t need any convincing,” she said.
“What do you need?”
“You.” She kissed him again, and his tongue dipped inside her lips, causing a jolt of heat to course through her. And then his hand moved higher, brushing over her curls and she made a sound of surprise and pleasure.
His touch was light and gentle as it moved over her, exploring and teasing. He kissed her as he touched her, but when he found that place where she gasped and moaned at his touch, he released her mouth and looked down at her.
“Rowden,” she said on a strangled breath.
“I’m here. God, you’re beautiful right now.”
No one had ever told her she was beautiful before him. She’d always been taught physical beauty didn’t matter. But he made her feel beautiful, and she loved that about him. She loved what he was doing with his fingers too, and even as she thought it, pleasure like none she had ever felt before began to spiral through her until her entire body was filled with it, making her cry out.
He kissed her again, covering the sound with his mouth, and she wrapped her arms about him and held him tightly.
Sixteen
Trogdon greeted them at Battle’s Peak. Though he had only set out an hour or so before them, he informed Rowden he’d been at the country house most of the day.
“I’m glad you made good time.”
Rowden did not mention that his delay had been mostly due to Modesty’s attack. She seemed to be recovered from that fright. He liked to think he had taken her mind off it for a little while.
Of course, he’d also like to think of himself as a man with a strong will, but though he had promised himself he would not become involved with her, he’d complicated things irrevocably. Now that he’d had a taste of her, he wanted more. The problem was that, regardless of how often she argued that she’d renounced her former morals, she wasn’t an experienced woman he could take to bed for one night. He’d already compromised her enough to warrant a marriage proposal.
Even the thought of marriage made Rowden feel as though the world had begun to spin too fast. He did not want to marry again. And yet, he continued to find himself wanting Modesty Brown and in a position to take advantage of those less than pure thoughts.
“The public coach is fast, sir,” Trogdon said, drawing Rowden’s attention. “Unfortunately, I was obliged to sit on top. My hands are quite frozen and incapacitated.”
“Really? From sitting atop the public coach?”
“I am obliged to ask another servant to carry in your bags.”
Rowden raised his brows. Trogdon looked perfectly dressed and his blond curls neat and tidy, so unless he had someone else arrange his clothing, his hands were working just fine. But Rowden had learned arguing with Trogdon was pointless as any attempt at logic was quite useless, and so he summoned one of Lord Nicholas’s footmen and asked him to carry his valise as well as Miss Brown’s luggage.
The housekeeper had introduced herself and offered to show them to their rooms after they’d had refreshment. Lady Florentia, Lord Nicholas’s sister, was waiting for them in the drawing room. Rowden wondered why Lord Nicholas was not there as well, but he knew better than to ask the housekeeper questions about the family.
He took Miss Brown’s arm and led her inside, where she paused in the foyer to gape at the grand marble staircase, the high ceiling and crystal chandelier, and the huge paintings by Renaissance masters on the walls.
Trogdon followed the footmen inside, keeping an eye on Rowden’s valise, and commenting that the man was carrying it incorrectly. Rowden hadn’t been aware there was a correct way to carry a valise, but who knew what other body parts of Trogdon’s might be incapacitated if Rowden made the wrong remark. The housekeeper led them upstairs to the drawing room, and Miss Brown leaned in close. “I have never been anywhere as grand as this except Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s Cathedral.”
“Lord Nicholas’s brother is the Marquess of Averstow. The family is one of the oldest in England and quite wealthy.” She smelled a bit of brandy and him. His scent was on her. Her cheeks were still rosy and her lips a bit swollen from his kisses. Rowden would have liked to carry her to his room and make her moan again, but that was the way to marriage, and he was growing tired of reminding himself not to continue along that path. He would turn back now and keep his hands to himself.
“Is the marquess here?” she asked.
“No. I don’t believe this is the family seat. The family is known for breeding horses, and I believe this is where they stable and breed them. Lord Nicholas and his sister reside here and manage the horses.”
Though the housekeeper had been pretending not to listen, Rowden had not lowered his voice, and now the servant added, “Actually, Lady Florentia does not reside here. But she has been staying here for the winter to keep her brother company.” She opened the doors to the drawing room, and Rowden practically had to drag Modesty inside. She stood gaping. The chamber had been decorated in the Greek style, with columns in white and white plaster and moldings all around. The groupings of chairs were spread throughout the room, the furnishings upholstered in pale cream or gold. A lady with dark brown hair and large brown eyes rose from one of those groupings and smiled at them. She wore a white gown with gold trim.
Rowden couldn’t remember ever meeting her from the name alone, but he recalled her face. He and Lord Nicholas had known each other before the war, and their families had spent time together in the country.
“My lady,” he said with a bow. “Thank you for opening your home to us.”
She waved a hand. “Lord Rowden.” She curtseyed. “We have a dozen empty rooms. I am more than happy to fill them. Since my brother won’t allow any parties, I was so pleased when Mr. Sterling’s letter arrived. And who is this?”
“Might I present Miss Modesty Brown.”
Lady Florentia came forward. “Miss Brown, a pleasure.” She looked toward the door. “Where is Lady Lorraine and her husband?”
Rowden doubted Ewan would enjoy being relegated to Lady Lorraine’s husband, but Florentia and Lorraine were of an age and had probably known each other for years. “She is unwell,” he said. “They are staying in London. Miss Brown would have stayed with her, but she has pressing business in Hungerford.”
“I see. Come sit by the fire and warm yourselves. Tea will be here in a moment. Was the journey awful?”
“Considering we were offered the use of Mr. Sterling’s coach, it was very pleasant,” he said.
“I want to see that coach later,” Lady Florentia remarked. “I have read about it. He sent a note that he will arrive tomorrow in plenty of time to watch your...how did he say it...in time to watch you have your brains beat in? Something like that.”
Rowden recognized the joke, but before he could issue a rejoinder, Modesty broke in. “He won’t have his brains beat in. He’ll defeat the German this time. He only lost last time because I distracted him.”
“Did you?” Lady Florentia said, giving Rowden a knowing look. “I want to hear all about that.”
The tea arrived and Rowden took the opportunity to ask what he really wanted to know. “Lord Nicholas won’t be joining us?”
Lady Florentia’s lips tightened. “Not right now. He is here, but he keeps to himself for the most part or spends time in the stables. He was never terribly social, but I do worry he spends too much time alone.”
“Has he started riding again?” Rowden asked.
“No. He works with the horses, but he won’t mount one. It’s been two years now, my lord. I have begun to fear he will never again ride.”
Rowden caught Modesty’s curious glance but didn’t enlighten her. “I’ll speak with him.”
“You may try, but I believe he’s avoiding you. When your manservant arrived, Nicholas walked off muttering that he wanted to be left alone.”
“Well, that’s quite a normal reaction to Trogdon, I think.”
“Just a mister now, Lady Florentia.” He rose. “A working man. If you don’t mind, I will take my leave. I want to see the venue for the mill.”
Miss Brown placed her teacup on the table. “Shall I come with you?”
He shook his head. “It’s not the best place for a lady, and it will be dark soon. I’ll take you on your errand tomorrow. In the meantime, my lady, is there a seamstress who can repair Miss Brown’s dress? She had a bit of trouble at a posting house.”
Lady Florentia pretended to just notice Miss Brown’s torn hem and promised to have her own lady’s maid repair it. Rowden bowed and left them. He made his way to the stable but did not spot Lord Nicholas. Instead, he asked a groom if there was a horse he could borrow to ride into Hungerford and was given a mare who was fast but good-natured. It was only about three miles to the race course housing the exhibition site, and as the mare was quick, Rowden arrived while it was still light.
He dismounted, tossed the reins to one of the lads who was standing about for that purpose, and entered the tent that had been erected to house the mills. The seating had not yet been put in place, but the fighting square and the ropes stood at the ready. He spotted the famous bareknuckle boxer Tom Cribb at the ropes and stood beside him.
Cribb nodded at him. “I hear you’re fighting the German.”
“That’s right.” Rowden hadn’t realized Cribb was also fighting. He’d certainly be a bigger draw than Rowden and the German. “What about you?”
“One of the umpires.”
Rowden felt some of the tension seep out. If he was still the main draw, his share of the prize money and the stakes would be higher. Cribb looked about. “Where’s Okoro? He isn’t your manager any longer?”
“He had business in London and will come tomorrow.”
Cribb nodded. “If you want me to put you through your paces tomorrow, I’d be happy to oblige.” He held up his hands. “I’m not trying to take Okoro’s place.”
“It’s a generous offer,” Rowden said. “I’ll take you up on it.”
Cribb’s gaze narrowed and he frowned. Rowden glanced at the far end of the tent and spotted Notley. “What’s he doing here?” Cribb asked. “He doesn’t have a milling cove entered.”
“Poaching off others,” Rowden said. “He lost the Black Plague and will want to acquire new talent.”
Cribb nodded. “I might have heard something about that. You’d better watch your back. Notley’s not the forgiving type.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Cribb slapped him on the back. “I wouldn’t put it past him to go after Okoro or someone else in your circle.”
Rowden considered. Notley would be sorry if he went after Chibale. Modesty was safe enough at Battle’s Peak, but earlier...
“When did Notley arrive?” Rowden asked Cribb.
Cribb shrugged. “This is the first time I’ve seen him today.”
Across the room Notley smiled at him and lifted his hat. Rowden didn’t smile back. Notley was surrounded by his usual cronies, and Rowden could hardly march over there and accuse him of attacking Modesty, especially without any proof. And yet, the way Notley smiled made the hair on the back of Rowden’s neck stand up.
THÉRÈSE COLLAPSED ONTO the emerald longue in her parlor and gratefully accepted the cup of tea her servant handed her. Chibale took one as well, though he continued to stand. “Have some tea,” Thérèse told him. “You have worked hard today.”
“I’m thinking of returning to the shop. If whoever did this comes again tonight, I’ll be waiting.”
She rose and put her arms about his waist. “They will not return. They did what they came to do.”
Chibale turned his head. “Why do you say that?”
She gave a shrug. “Because they did not take anything. They did not break down the door to my office and steal the money. They did not steal the silks and the dresses off the forms. They could sell thees and have coin in their pockets. They wanted to destroy.”
“So we are back to assuming they are vandals.”
“What else?”
“I don’t know. If they come back tonight—”
She slid around to look him in the eye and put her finger on his lips. “If they return tonight, my bully boys will deal with them. All ees safe and well.” She kissed him. “Sit down and have some tea.”
“Shall we have dessert?” the parrot asked, and Thérèse blew out a breath. She would have thrown curses at the bird, but she would only hear them repeated in the shop the next day. Instead, she coaxed Bleuette to her shoulder, petted her, and then placed her in her cage, covering it for the night.
“That bird,” she muttered, sitting next to Chibale on the longue, “annoys me to no end.”
“Why do you keep her?”
She looked at him, wondering how much to tell him, wondering why she did not tell him all. He was not like the other men she had known. He was kind and sweet. He had invited her to a ball and to meet his family. But she doubted he would want her to meet his family if he knew the truth about her. Perhaps now was the time to find out, before her feelings for him became any stronger. She could already tell his feelings for her were serious. Thérèse had suspected this before, but after all he had done today, there was little question.
She looked at Bleuette’s cage and then back at Chibale. “I keep her because she ees like me.”
Chibale raised a brow. “You are both very beautiful, but I think the resemblance ends there.”
“That ees because you do not know her story. I took her from a house in Paris. The master of the house, a rich nobleman, had ordered several dresses for his newest paramour. I brought the dresses and conducted the fitting myself. In those days, I had no reputation and took what work I could get—actresses, courtesans. I specialized in risqué gowns, and thees nobleman wanted that for his new paramour. And so I came to the flat, and I did the fitting. The girl was very silly and the nobleman very vain. I could tell he was a collector of beautiful things, but they were just things to him, not treasures. A priceless painting tossed in a corner. An expensive vase used for rubbish. A beautiful bird, neglected and dying.”
Chibale glanced at Bleuette’s cage.
“Yes. It was she. I could not forget her. I felt...how do you say...solidarity with her? And so when it came time for payment, I asked for the bird.”
“What did the nobleman say?”
“He argued, the idiot. The dresses were worth more than the bird, who was in poor condition, but he argued anyway. Finally, his mistress intervened and gave me the bird. I took her home and nursed her back to health. And you see how she repays me?”
“Surely she doesn’t know what she is saying.”
“No, and she ees very unusual. Ladies come into the shop to see her and then stay to buy. She ees an asset.” She leaned closer to him. “But today it ees you who I needed. You who were the asset.” She would have kissed him, but he put a hand on her shoulder.
“You said she was like you. How so?”
Thérèse had known he would not let that point go. Hadn’t she wanted him to ask? She sat back. “Because once I too was in a cage—not a literal cage—but a cage nonetheless. And I was neglected and ready to die.”
Chibale surged to his feet. “Who did this to you? I will kill him.”
She waved a hand. “It was long ago and far away. I was a different person then. Literally, a different person. Thérèse Renauld was not my name. I was given to thees man very young. Not a marriage, no. My mother did the best she could for me. The life she gave me was no different from hers.”
Chibale took her hand, his face blank and unreadable.
“She sold me,” she said bluntly. “She was a courtesan, and she sold my virginity to the highest bidder, who made me his mistress. Thees man was older and wealthy. He took me to another city in France. He took me away from my family and friends. I knew no one and had no frie
nds. He put me in a house and locked the door. I was not allowed to leave. I was to be always available to him, if you understand.” Chibale’s hand on hers tightened, to show he did understand. “Sometimes he would be gone for a day. Sometimes a week. Once he was gone for a fortnight, and I had no food. I pounded on the door, called out for help, but no one came. I thought I would die. And while I lay dying, weak and faded as Bleuette in her rich man’s cage, I made a plan to escape. That was if I should survive.
“He returned, and I waited until I had my strength back, and then when he was asleep, I hit him over the head with a lamp and ran.”
“Thank God.” He tried to pull her in, but she shook her head. She wanted to tell him all of it now.
“If God was truly to be thanked, he would have died. But he lived, and he came after me. That was why I hid, why I sewed gowns for actresses and prostitutes, why I fled to England. As difficult as it ees to find someone in Paris who does not want to be found, I knew as my dresses became more popular and more sought after, he would find me. I prayed after all these years, he had given up on me, but I could never be certain. I could never stop looking over my shoulder. And so I came here.”
“Do you think he is responsible for the damage done to your shop?”
“I do not know,” she said. “It ees possible. But if he has found me, then I am in danger of more than damage to my shop.”
Chibale pulled her to him now, and she allowed it. She had never told anyone about her past, and she was trembling from the memories that assaulted her. But Chibale’s arms were strong, and his body was solid. He held her closely, and when she put her head on his chest, she could hear his heart beating slowly and steadily. This was a man she could rely on, a man she could trust. She had so few people in her life like that, and to find a man who she could believe in, after all these years when she thought such a thing impossible, was akin to a miracle.
The thought struck her as the sort of thing a child would think. And then she realized it was more the thing a woman in love might think.
