Refraining from asking why, after hurrying them along, she was now inclined to linger, Christopher said, ‘What say you, Ellie? Would you ladies care for some tea?’
‘Have you tasted the tea here, Artis?’ Ellie asked.
The girl nodded. ‘Once, when I lifted...um...found a handful of coppers. Warm and sweet and wonderful it was, miss!’
‘Then let this be my treat,’ Christopher said, stepping into the shop to procure a cup for each lady. ‘Not Gunter’s, but permissible?’ he asked as he handed Ellie hers.
‘Permissible—’ she smiled ‘—since you’d never bring your young lady down this narrow back lane either.’
‘What a dull life she must lead, that poor, pretty-behaved young maid.’
‘Restricted, certainly. But with books, music, rides, walks, agreeable companionship, worthwhile work to do, and knowing nothing of the wider world she’s missing, such a girl could be content. There are...benefits to remaining innocent.’
‘Definite benefits to not being suddenly cast out of a sheltered existence into an indifferent world you’ve been given no training or preparation to survive,’ he agreed with some heat. As she had been.
* * *
Tea finished, they picked up their baskets and resumed walking out of the maze of market streets, Artis clutching her book possessively. But as they were passing a stall displaying shirts, shifts and chemises, the girl halted, pointing to an elegant, beribboned corset.
‘What kind of skirt goes with that, miss? Cor, but that’s the prettiest thing I ever did see!’
‘It’s a corset, Artis. Worn over the chemise, but beneath the gown,’ Ellie explained, sure Artis had never seen such lace-and ribbon-trimmed undergarments.
‘You wears it under the gown?’ Artis asked. ‘All them pretty ribbons and flowers don’t even show? What a bleedin’ waste of lace and thread!’ Shaking her head, Artis picked up the pace again.
‘I know, I mustn’t envisage you wearing it,’ Christopher murmured to Ellie—although that was exactly where his nimble mind had leapt as soon as he saw the garment. Unable to resist the temptation to tease, he added, ‘Or picture removing it.’
To his delight, that naughty comment earned him a blush. ‘I hardly need mention that’s not a remark you could make to your innocent maid. Indeed, if you should accompany her while she is shopping for gowns at a boutique that happens also to sell undergarments, you will pretend not to notice.’
‘Another rule,’ he said with an exaggerated sigh. ‘No noticing of beribboned corsets—or envisaging the lady in or out of them.’
‘Wretch! I imagine you have more experience getting a lady out than getting one in,’ she returned tartly.
‘Not as much as you might suspect. Most of my chère amies had already removed such impediments to passion before I arrived. Although it can be a delicious game, taking one’s time to slowly remove each garment.’ Grinning at having pushed her so far, before Ellie could reprove him again, he held up a hand. ‘I know, enough! Artis may not be a marriageable miss, but she is little more than a child.’
‘I’m more worried about sparing my blushes,’ Ellie retorted. ‘Artis might not recognise the purpose behind a decorated corset, but raised where she was, I doubt she has much ignorance left about anything else to do with the process.’
‘She knew enough that she never wanted to end up in one of Gentleman Bob’s schools,’ he said grimly. ‘After so many years thieving, though, do you really think she’ll stop?’
Ellie inclined her head to where Artis trotted in front of them, using a sort of sixth sense to navigate while keeping most of her attention on her precious book. ‘She has something she loves more now.’
Could he find something he’d love more?
Would that person be enough to make up for losing Ellie’s companionship?
The thought of that potential loss burned like a hand placed too close to a blazing hearth. His mind recoiling from the prospect, as they reached the main area at Tottenham Court Road, he said, ‘I’ll fetch us a hackney. I know now it’s not far to Dean Street, but these baskets are heavy.’
He wouldn’t think any further about the fact that marriage would inevitably mean the end of their interludes together.
Over this last week, he’d grown accustomed to seeing her almost daily. Just the prospect of losing the warmth and brightness she brought to his life made the world seem a little colder and darker.
After engaging a jarvey, he brought the vehicle to where the ladies waited, helped them in and loaded the baskets.
‘Thank you again, Artis,’ Ellie said to the girl as the vehicle set off. ‘I shall certainly know where to look the next time I’m in need of any sort of item.’
‘I enjoyed exploring it with you,’ Christopher said. ‘But I’d not recommend that you return there alone.’
Ellie nodded. ‘I’ll make sure to take Jensen, or Tarleton if I’m buying supplies for the house—if,’ she added with a smile, ‘you’re not available and in need of another lesson.’
‘Call upon me any time,’ he replied. As often as possible—before it no longer is possible.
All too soon, the hackney pulled up in Dean Street and Christopher reversed the process of unloading. Telling the driver to wait, he walked the ladies in, Ellie calling for Jensen to help Artis carry the baskets down to the kitchen. The girl showered Christopher with another round of effusive thanks before running off, doubtless eager to show off her treasure.
‘So, I’ll see you tomorrow at Lady Sayleford’s?’ Ellie said.
‘Tomorrow, at Lady Sayleford’s,’ he confirmed.
‘Thank you again for accompanying us. I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed shopping more.’
‘Good company makes any task lighter. Well...I’d better get along. I promised Giles I’d look over some papers with him.’
‘Give my best to Lord and Lady Lyndlington, then.’
‘I’ll do that.’ Hell and damnation, just leave, he told himself, fighting the desire to find another excuse to linger. ‘Until tomorrow.’
Another precious day to look forward to—and extract every morsel of pleasure from while this temporary association lasted.
Chapter Thirteen
The following afternoon at two, Christopher presented himself at Lady Sayleford’s home in Grosvenor Square. Although in the past, he and Ben usually excused themselves to seek more carnal delights when Maggie played for the company after a dinner gathering, he did enjoy music. He remembered listening with rapt enjoyment as a child, as his mother played.
He was also curious what type of music Ellie preferred. What had she played from memory for her sister in the frigid near-darkness at Wanstead Hall? The mathematically intricate arrangements of Mozart? Folk tunes and romantic ballads of star-crossed lovers? The grandiose, structured precision of Handel? Or the difficult, passionate interludes of Beethoven?
She was in turn all those things—logical, romantic, precise, and ah, yes, passionate. A passion that her forced introduction to intimacy had stymied. But if she were able to explore her inclinations, at her pace, as she wished? Everything about the intense connection between them promised she possessed hidden depths of desire, just waiting to be unleashed.
How he wished he could be the man to loosen those fetters!
‘Lady Sayleford is resting, and regrettably will not be able to join you,’ the butler informed him as he ushered Christopher in. ‘But Miss Parmenter has already arrived, and is waiting for you in the Blue Salon.’
Christopher followed him up the stairs, until he halted before one of the doors. ‘You needn’t announce me,’ he said before the man could knock.
‘Very good, sir,’ the butler said, and bowed himself away.
Christopher entered the room noiselessly—succeeding, as he’d hoped, in
catching a glimpse of Ellie before she was aware of his presence. He halted, indulging in the rare opportunity of openly staring at her loveliness.
She was seated at the pianoforte, facing away from him. As she scanned the music on the stand before her, occasionally she turned her head, offering him a glimpse of her profile. She wore a plain gown—her gowns were always plain, he realised—but then, she had no need of elaborate trimmings to enhance her beauty. Not when the sheen of the gown did such a good job, echoing the sparkle in her eyes, and the sweep of the bodice from her shoulders to her waist emphasised its smallness so cleverly. He could span it with two hands, he thought, the idea jolting his pulse and making his mouth dry.
She was running her fingers experimentally along the keyboard, as if appreciating their feel and texture. He could imagine running his own fingers over the porcelain beauty of her skin. Hunger gnawed at him, sparking the urge to walk over and kiss the curve of her neck bared when she inclined her head towards the keyboard.
He stopped himself before he could act on the impulse. Damn and blast, he didn’t seem to be doing a bit better at restraining his thoughts, if not his actions.
Lose control of those here, and he wouldn’t need to worry about a repetition—an outraged Lady Sayleford would ban him from the house. He recalled her sharp, sotto voce reminder that rakes were attractive only if they had truly reformed.
As he was resolving to do better, Ellie must have sensed his presence, for she turned on the bench. ‘Christopher!’ she said, giving him the lovely smile that never failed to lift his heart. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘I hoped to hear you play a bit before you were aware of me,’ he said, admitting only part of what he’d been doing.
‘So I wouldn’t be nervous? As well I should be, having not practised in so long.’
‘Why haven’t you?’ he asked, curious. ‘I know...an instrument would have been provided, had you requested it,’ he continued, avoiding the name—as he increasingly wanted to avoid recalling that she’d ever been bound to another man.
‘It would have been,’ she replied, apparently no more eager than he to mention particulars. ‘But music, and performing on the pianoforte, belonged to another life. Silly, I suppose, but I thought it would be easier to survive the new one if I kept the two entirely separate. Fortunately, musical performances weren’t a part of my new duties,’ she added drily.
‘If you played by heart at Wanstead, I wager you’ll still recall the notes,’ he said, wanting to pull her thoughts away from what they would both rather forget.
‘I may recall the music, but after a decade without practice, don’t expect me to perform it well! Before I make the attempt, how often have you attended a musical evening among the ton?’
‘Never. Mama played occasionally when we were children, and Maggie sometimes plays for us after one of her father’s political dinners. But that’s the extent of it.’
‘For a musical evening designed to display the talents of young ladies, there will probably be some refreshment and conversation before the performances begin.’
‘Polite conversation on appropriate topics?’
She nodded. ‘You might begin by complimenting the hostess on the excellence of her refreshments, the decoration of her home, or her appearance—nothing too extravagant, lest you be thought insincere. You may ask the young ladies about sites of interest they have visited in London, or the types of music they prefer.’
Christopher walked over to join her at the instrument, and bowed. ‘Miss Parmenter, how lovely to see you again. What a charming gown! How have you been enjoying London? I understand the markets are without compare.’
Her lips quirking in amusement, Ellie said, ‘I’m so pleased you could attend, Mr Lattimar. Yes, I’ve discovered some quite unusual markets of late. Though it is partly the excellent company that made the visit so delightful.’
‘Excellent company always enhances an adventure.’
‘Have you any requests, Mr Lattimar? Lady Sayleford has a good selection of music. Although I cannot promise to be able to play all of it.’
‘I’m sure whatever you choose will be delightful.’
‘You may live to regret that invitation,’ she murmured, injecting a note of truth into their patterned exchange as she pulled several sheets from the stack she’d assembled. ‘Would you be so kind as to turn the pages for me, Mr Lattimar? This piece was a particular favourite of my sister’s.’
‘I would be honoured.’ Moving into position beside her, Christopher looked down to discover she had chosen a Beethoven piano concerto.
‘Being in practice, your young lady would begin immediately, but I have need of a warm-up first. You will indulge me through a few scales?’
‘Of course.’
She took a deep breath, as if beginning an arduous endeavour, he thought with a smile. But the pianoforte had such a lovely sound, and her rapt attention as she began slowly, then gradually increased the speed and difficulty of the exercises, had him listening in appreciation even before she began the work itself.
Which was marvellous. What a shame she had not played in so long, for even with a few missed notes and misplayed keys, her performance was mesmerising. The music itself in its sonorous complexity was engaging enough, but her rendition of it, by turns passionate, explosive and tender, completely beguiled him.
He was reminded again of Maggie playing for them—and Ellie looked every inch a comparable lady. Suppressing again the stab of anger at her father for stealing from her any chance of being recognised as one, he focused on simply enjoying the performance.
All those nights, listening to buxom girls belting out bawdy tunes, when I could have come home to something like this.
Wistful envy stirred again for what Giles had—a lovely woman to play for him like this, uplifting his spirits, inciting his desires. If Ellie were his, he could place his hands on her shoulders as the piece drew to a close, brush the wisps of hair from her neck and lean down to kiss her.
Caught up in the music and the moment, before he realised what he intended, he’d done just that.
The concerto ended abruptly in a jangle of discordant notes. Cursing under his breath, he straightened and jerked his hands away, his heart thudding with regret—and arousal.
‘You may definitely not do that,’ she said in a strangled voice.
He blew out a gusty sigh. ‘I know, I know. Sorry! It’s just—I was imagining, not a parlour with my Virtuous Virgin playing for a roomful of guests, but being in my own drawing room with my wife. After coming home, disgruntled from a day arguing with stubborn opponents, I’d be relaxing with a brandy, while she played a beautiful melody like that, soothing away the irritation and anger.’
She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes wistful. ‘That’s exactly what you should have. A wife to revive, soothe and refresh you.’
‘Fascinate and delight,’ he added.
‘That, too.’
He clasped his hands behind him to prevent himself from reaching for her. Maybe it was the music, lingering in his brain and his senses, but he felt even more powerfully drawn to her. Something more complex had layered itself over the ever-simmering desire that kept him always on the knife’s edge of arousal, something more intimate, a connection that had no need of touch. Almost a...linking of souls, that communicated an affection and comfort and understanding too powerful for words. He’d never experienced anything like it, and found it as compelling as physical passion.
How he longed for them both!
‘Thank you,’ he said at last. ‘For giving me a vision of what marriage might be with greater clarity than I’ve ever had before. If this sense of peace and belonging is what Giles and Davie and Ben experienced, I now understand why they felt driven to marry their ladies.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ she replied softl
y. ‘I hope you find it, too. I know you will.’
With someone other than you? But he must get past that desire, he knew, anger breaking the music’s spell. Ellie was out of bounds, impossible to claim as mistress, unsuitable to be his wife. He must learn what he needed from her and break off these lessons, before the conflict between what he wanted and could not have brought him to the breaking point, to some rash action that would destroy them both.
As if aware of his distress, she pushed away from the piano. ‘Enough of that. Sophie should arrive soon. If you linger a little longer, it would be good practice for you to meet and talk with her.’
In his current unsettled state, he wasn’t in the least interested in making polite chat with the sort of Virtuous Virgin who must replace Ellie in his life. But Ellie delighted in her sister, and would probably be hurt if he snubbed her. ‘I suppose I can spare the time,’ he said, trying not to sound ungrateful.
Ever perceptive, she picked up on his aggrieved tone and gave him an amused glance. ‘She’s quite lovely and accomplished, you’ll remember. I don’t think speaking with her will be a burden.’
Feeling his face redden, he nodded. ‘Sorry. I’m sure it won’t be.’
Needing to put some space between them, he strolled to the bookcases that lined the walls of the salon. ‘It appears Lady Sayleford is quite a reader—or some ancestor was.’
‘Yes, it’s an impressive collection,’ Ellie agreed, walking to a shelf a safe distance away. ‘I’ve missed having a library. Not that my father was a reader, but his grandfather was. Fortunately, not realising how valuable some of the volumes were, Papa never thought to sell them when the estate fell on hard times. Great-Grandfather possessed all the classics, many in original Greek and Latin.’
‘I suppose literature is another safe topic of conversation, if my questions are confined to the poetry of Wordsworth, Southey and Robert Burns?’
‘Yes, although I’d start with a discreet enquiry to discover whether or not the young lady is a reader. Not all mamas consider a knowledge of literature appropriate for a gently bred girl. Your questions could expose an ignorance that might embarrass her.’
Secret Lessons with the Rake Page 14
