by C. J. Archer
No one except Lord Warhurst, and she was not likely to see him again. She doubted he cared enough to tell her father or Roger Style, the company’s manager. With another sigh, she removed the hat. She was about to step behind the door used as a screen for privacy when she heard the swish of the curtain opening behind her.
She knew without turning around that Lord Warhurst had returned. She couldn’t say how she knew it, she just did. Perhaps it was his presence, so powerful that it surged ahead of him like a flood.
“Why do you want to help me?” he said.
She turned and shrugged. The ill-fitting sleeve slipped off her shoulder. She adjusted it but not before she saw Warhurst’s lips purse. In disapproval? Irritation? Or suppressed desire?
“I liked your sister,” she said. “And your brother.”
His eyebrow forked again. “That may be the case but I doubt it is your sole reason. There must be more for you to risk your livelihood. I’m sure you are aware that Lord Hawkesbury could have you removed from his company if he discovers your involvement in this scheme.”
She nodded. “That’s why I want something from you in return.”
“Money?”
“Not quite.” She chewed the inside of her lip, thinking fast. Should she ask him? Would he agree? If she didn’t ask, she would never know his answer. And such an opportunity would never arise again, of that she was certain. She had to ask.
She lifted her chin and stepped toward him, the better to gauge his reaction. But his only reaction was a lowering of his gaze again to her breasts bursting over the top of the bodice. She cleared her throat but refused to cover herself. Let him look. She wasn’t ashamed.
“I cannot take you on as my mistress.” He looked up, face flushed, eyes hooded.
“Pardon?”
His flush deepened. “I, er, isn’t that what you were asking of me?”
“No! Good lord, what sort of woman do you think I am?”
“I…I’m not entirely sure. To be honest, I’ve never encountered a woman such as yourself before.”
“That is quite obvious.”
He bowed. “My humble apologies, Mistress Croft.” He blinked rapidly and looked away, pretending to study a Roman shield leaning against the wall.
An awkward silence ensued until she could stand it no longer. “What I do want from you is your patronage, of sorts.”
That got his attention. “So you do want money?” He said it without a hint of disapproval, as if he expected it, almost welcomed it.
But what she wanted wasn’t quite as simple as an exchange of coins. “I want you to establish me as a seamstress with a shop of my own in a respectable part of the city.”
“You want what?”
“In essence, you will be my patron, but only until such time that my earnings cover the rent. I have some money set aside to purchase the tools I need. You could also use your influence with certain merchants so that I can buy cloth and other materials at a good price. It would be to your benefit,” she said quickly when his mouth dropped open. “The more money that remains in my coffers, the faster I will be able to support myself and you can wash your hands of me. And there is one other thing.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he muttered.
“If you could send some elegant ladies of your acquaintance to my shop, I would be most grateful. You would benefit—”
“Yes, yes, so I see.” He shook his head and she thought she heard a low chuckle, but he didn’t smile so she couldn’t be sure. “First of all, Mistress Croft, you overestimate my influence in elegant circles. As you can see,” he stretched out his arms, “I am no gallant.”
“True, but your clothes are well made and suited to your… demeanor.”
He frowned. “Meaning?”
“They are serious.” She thought it wise not to mention she’d seen Puritans wear more cheerful clothing. There wasn’t a hint of embellishment in his doublet; even the buttons were covered in the same black material. No slashing, no embroidery, no pinking, and yet the doublet was silk and from what she could see, the tailoring superb. It fit him to perfection, without needing any padding across shoulders or chest. What lay beneath the clothing must also be perfection. The thought made her heart skip.
“I have seen your mother and sister,” she forged on, “and they are both women with exceptional fashion sense. If I provide them with some gowns, free of charge, of course, to prove my skill then perhaps they could send their friends to me. You could give them the gowns as a gift.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “A reasonable plan. And my brother’s new bride would require something to wear for her wedding feast. Could you do it?”
“How soon?”
“In a month or two I would imagine.”
If she started as soon as possible she should be able to make Min an outfit to rival the queen’s. “I should like to make her something special anyway. We have become friends of sorts.”
He nodded. “But I’m afraid you mistake my position in this city. I am rarely here and I do not know any merchants. As to renting a shop…” He drew in a breath. “I shall see what I can do.”
“I’m sure your brother knows many merchants from his privateering jaunts. Perhaps you could ask him.”
He acknowledged this with a curt nod. “You have a solid understanding of business, I see.”
“Then we have an agreement?”
“We do, on one condition. That you do not mention this to anyone. We shall rent the shop in your name and in no way will any transactions between us be known. I cannot afford for our connection to be discovered.”
“Because you don’t wish Lord Hawkesbury to know?”
He hesitated before saying, “Quite.”
She chewed her lip again. He wasn’t telling her the entire truth. Not that it mattered. The anonymity of her new patron suited her needs too. Her father knew she had some money set aside; she would simply inflate the amount when he asked how she could afford to set out on her own.
“Only my half brother will know,” he said, “but if pressed, he’ll say he does not.”
She was about to ask why when she realized she already knew the answer. “He wishes to keep Min happy, and to do that he needs to ensure her plays are performed. Upsetting the patron of the company performing them would be a poor move. At least until she is able to sell them to another company.”
The green eyes briefly flared and she thought she saw a flicker of surprise in them. Surprise that she could think for herself?
The man grew more pompous by the minute.
“Furthermore,” he went on as if she had not spoken, “I think it best that you do not give up your position here with Lord Hawkesbury’s Players until our task is complete.”
“Agreed. Shall we shake on it?” She held out her hand.
He didn’t take it, didn’t even acknowledge it with so much as a glance. “You do not wish to know how I want you to gather the relevant information before agreeing?”
“My lord, unless you are asking me to whore for you, I will do whatever is required.”
“What makes you think I am not asking you to whore for me?”
She shrugged and lowered her hand. “You seem far too prudish to ask that of any woman. Even a seamstress.”
He tilted his head back as if struck. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. Just a slight lifting of the corners of his mouth at first, then a few twitches until finally a wide grin broke out, as if it had escaped despite his attempts to smother it.
“I can assure you, Mistress Croft,” he said, capturing the grin once more and hiding it away, “that I am no prude.” He picked up a fine lawn partlet from the top of a pile of clothes stacked on a closed chest. “Nor am I immune to your… charms.” His gaze dipped once more to her breasts and this time it was her turn to blush as heat prickled her throat, her face. He closed the space between them until he was so near she could smell him, a pleasing mix of fresh air and man. “So I would appreciate it if you kept those charms covered
when next we meet.” He tucked the edge of the partlet down the front of her bodice. His long finger grazed her skin, just above the nipple.
She let out a breath and dared not draw in another, as it would cause her chest to rise, bringing his finger closer. Closer. Even though that was exactly what she suddenly, desperately wanted. For this man to touch her. Everywhere. The need throbbed within her like an ache.
But some very deep part of her kept her from drawing the breath that could start something. Or stop it.
Then his finger was gone, leaving the partlet covering the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she sucked in breath upon breath. Their gazes locked and heat flooded her, sliding through her like warm sunshine.
She’d thought she’d understood this man from the moment he’d walked in with his conservative clothing and crisp aloofness. Now she knew she did not.
“You said you knew where Lord Hawkesbury would be tonight,” he said, voice low and rough.
“I…” She nodded and stepped away, out of reach of his powerful presence. “He’s commissioned a performance from the troupe to entertain his betrothed and her family at Hawkesbury Hall.”
His brows rose. “The Enderbys?”
She nodded. “I don’t usually attend private performances, but I can devise a reason for my presence tonight. I might be able to learn something, if you tell me what it is I need to look for.”
He blinked slowly. Then he straightened and put his hands behind his back. “Our task is to find out why Lord Hawkesbury is marrying Patience Enderby when neither he nor the girl wants the marriage.”
“He doesn’t love her?”
“He says not.”
“Nobles marry for reasons other than love all the time.”
He gave her a tight smile. “I am well aware of that.”
Alice knew Lord Warhurst wasn’t married, but was he betrothed to some influential heiress he didn’t love? What about his own heart’s desire? Did he even have one? A desire, not a heart—although she couldn’t be sure he possessed either.
“From what my half brother tells me,” Lord Warhurst said, “Hawkesbury is being forced into the union by the girl’s father, Lord Enderby.” He put a sneer into the name that was so slight she almost missed it. “From the little I know of Hawkesbury, it would take a shifting of the earth for him to agree to something he didn’t want to do. He lacks neither money nor power so it must be something else.”
“A secret. A very grave one.”
“Precisely.” He gave a nod, as if impressed that she had grasped the situation. “It is my understanding that the secret Lord Enderby possesses could harm Hawkesbury’s loved ones if discovered.”
“Who are his loved ones?”
“He has a sister and mother still living.”
Alice huffed out a breath. “You have a difficult task.”
“Learning the secret will not be easy, I grant you. But with your assistance, I believe we will prevail.”
She shook her head. He hadn’t quite understood her. “Discovering the secret is only one hurdle.”
When she paused he said, “Go on.”
“The more difficult problem will be ensuring the secret is no longer a threat to Lord Hawkesbury. You must some-how silence Enderby without letting the secret out.” From the grim set of Lord Warhurst’s mouth, she knew he was aware of that fact, as he was no doubt aware that Hawkesbury would have already tried purchasing Lord Enderby’s silence with something other than a betrothal to his daughter.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we discover what Enderby knows,” he said.
Alice wasn’t so sure ignoring it before they even began was a good idea, but she didn’t say so. She was being paid to help discover the secret, not concern herself with events beyond that.
Lord Warhurst raised his hand to silence her. The clip-clop of hooves on the cobblestones echoed around the innyard. The rider called for an ostler and their brief exchange was followed by the sound of the horse being led away. The door to the taproom opened and a lively tune strummed on a lute drifted out to the tiring house along with the trickle of laughter and voices.
“I must go,” Lord Warhurst said. “It would be best if we weren’t seen together. There’s a small inn called the Golden Lion near St. Mary le Bow, which is out of the way and not likely to be frequented by either Hawkesbury, Enderby, or your players. Do you know it?”
“No, but I’ll find it.”
“Good. Dine with me at midday there tomorrow.” It was an order, and Warhurst seemed used to giving them and having them obeyed.
She nodded because it wasn’t in her interests to refuse him. “Until midday then, my lord.”
He turned but paused at the curtain. “Thank you, Mistress Croft,” he said without fully facing her. His profile was strong with the hard lines of his jaw and straight nose. Alice felt the odd little flutter in the pit of her stomach again and tried very hard not to stare. “I appreciate your assistance,” he said. “I will ensure that your safety will not be jeopardized by anything I request of you.”
“Your words are noble, Lord Warhurst, but I assure you I am capable of taking care of myself.” She wasn’t sure why she said it. Perhaps it was a need to assert herself with a man who thought her so far beneath him he was almost too embarrassed to speak to her.
He turned to her fully and his direct, unblinking gaze held hers. She swallowed. “Nevertheless you are now working for me and I take my responsibility to those in my employ very seriously.”
“I am not one of your servants,” she tossed back.
His nostrils flared but he said nothing. He opened the curtain and walked away.
She let out a long breath and slowly began to remove the costume, beginning with the lawn partlet he’d so deliberately and deliciously tucked into her bodice.
CHAPTER 2
It was as if Leo had been walking about in his sleep for years and now he’d been shocked awake. Shocked by Alice Croft. An absurd observation but an accurate one nevertheless. He dodged the traffic rumbling along busy Gracechurch Street then glanced back at the grand half-timbered inn on the corner. Its sign swung in the breeze and another weary traveler rode through the arch to the courtyard and theatre stage beyond. A flash of crimson caught Leo’s eye. He stilled. Watched. Waited for the vibrant color to reappear. But it did not. An ostler sauntered out to the street, looked right and left, and spat into the gutter before ambling back into the yard again. No crimson about his grubby person. No crimson anywhere.
Leo snorted softly at his own foolish imaginings. He’d spent too much time around all those ridiculous theatre props and costumes and now his mind was seeing things that weren’t there. He shook his head but couldn’t quite shake off the strange mood that had wrapped around him since meeting the seamstress.
There was something about her that scratched at his nerves, made them raw and sensitive. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.
Perhaps it was simply the oddity of finding a quick wit within such a person. He knew many women with a mind as clever as a man’s—he lived with two of them!—but they had been educated and came from the best stock. Alice Croft was a seamstress, but even after their short meeting he had sensed something that set her apart from other women of her trade.
Leo had hardly shut the door to his family’s Dowgate Street house when Greeves, the steward, met him with the words, “My lady requires your presence in her chambers.”
Leo sighed. His mother must have another candidate.
“You summoned me, Mother?” he said on entering her private withdrawing room.
“Ah, there you are,” she said without looking up from her writing desk. Autumn sunshine speared through the window, brightening a room that didn’t need any more brightening. The emeralds set into her rings clashed with the red and gold of the cushions scattered across every surface from chairs to daybed. The effect was dazzling.
She signed her name on a document, blotted the ink, and folded the parchment. He waited, not
very patiently, while she dripped red wax onto the letter and sealed it with her stamp. He knew from experience that his mother couldn’t be hurried.
When she finished, she stood and handed him the document. It smelled faintly of the lavender water she liked to sprinkle on all her correspondence. “Take this to Lady Norwich at your earliest convenience.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You want me to run an errand for you?” Clearly his mother was in one of her strange moods, the sort that her children had long put down to eccentricity. “Why not send one of the servants?”
“Do stop scowling, Leo. You frown so much of late. Your face will set permanently if you’re not careful, and no girl wants to wed a cantankerous old man.”
“Thirty-four is hardly old.”
“It is when you’re fifteen.” She waggled the letter at him— the letter to Lady Norwich, mother to a young girl who could very well be about fifteen.
“No,” he said, stepping away from her and the letter as if it were poisonous. “Mother, she’s a child.”
“Have you seen any fifteen-year-olds lately, Leo? I can assure you, Elizabeth is hardly a girl anymore. She’s a woman in all the…obvious areas.”
An image of another woman’s obvious areas came to mind. He tried to shove aside the picture of Alice Croft spilling over the top of her ill-fitting gown but couldn’t. There was certainly nothing of the girl in her. She was very much a woman.
“Nevertheless, she is unsuitable,” he said. “Lady Norwich’s daughter, I mean.”
It was his mother’s turn to frown. “Were we speaking of anyone else?”
He cleared his throat and took the letter. “I’ll have someone send this to your friend.” She began to protest and he held up his hand. Surprisingly, she stopped talking and simply sighed. “As to the Norwich girl…”
“Elizabeth.”
