He waited, smiling as she gave the nanny a talking to.
As the nanny walked off, scolding her charge, he strolled over to where Gina sat on a bench emptying water out of her boots. “That was a fine thing you did.”
“It was nothing.”
“But you’re wet.”
She finished lacing up her boot and stood. “It doesn’t matter; I’ll go straight home.”
He took her arm. “We’ve hardly talked about our arrangement.”
“There’s nothing more to be said. I have agreed to it.” She looked away. “I’ll catch an omnibus on the corner.”
“Allow me to take you home.”
“No, no. The bus will be here in a minute. I’ll meet you on Friday.”
“At two o’clock,” he called after her, as she ran across the road.
Blair raked his fingers through his hair. Gina was hardly the passionate paramour. There were plenty of women eager to climb into his bed, plenty who hung on his every word. Why choose Gina? He had no answer for his behavior, and indeed, shied away from examining himself too closely.
Chapter Twelve
As the horse-drawn omnibus rolled down the street, Gina found a place on the bench seat and waited for her heart to quiet. When she closed her eyes she saw his face, the humor lurking in his blue eyes, her pulse thudded furiously again. She’d always been aware of the passion she kept tamped down inside her. But not until she’d met Blair, had she ever felt like this. Suddenly, she wanted so much from life that it frightened her.
At her stop, she cautiously approached her house, searching the people in the street. She hurried up the steps, worried that the Earl might appear from a shadowy corner, even after she locked her door.
The next morning, she made her way to the Alhambra Music Hall in Leicester Square to visit Mabel.
The white, Moorish-styled building looked as if it might have been plucked from an exotic, far eastern city. In the foyer, Gina stopped to look at a picture of Mabel astride a horse. A country girl, she was a talented horsewoman and was now the star of the equestrian ballet.
“Well, ducks, tell me what happened,” Mabel asked when Gina located her in her new dressing room.
“I’m to be his mistress, Mabel. Starting tomorrow. I’m not sure what that means. My mother would be very angry, but I’m frightened. There’s this man who’s after me. He’s dangerous. I have to get away.”
Mabel sat at her mirror applying stage makeup. “It’s the best thing for you, ducks. You’ve had a bad trot.” She threw the rabbit’s foot down and jumped up. “I’ve got something for you. And a few tips.” She handed Gina a bag. “Those cost me a pretty penny, they did. But you’re worth it. Now sit down while I finish getting dressed. I have a lot to tell you. Things your Mamma never would have and should have if you ask me. So listen hard.”
***
As the coachman piled her few belongings into the hansom, Gina searched the busy street for Lord Ogilvie but found no sign of him. She breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t find her as she would never return. Blair’s strong and reassuring hand held her elbow, as he assisted her up the step.
As the carriage left the shabby streets behind, her fears left her, replaced by excitement and apprehension that gripped her stomach in both a painful and pleasurable way.
As Blair told her about the apartment he had leased for her, she eyed him shyly from beneath the brim of her bonnet. She wished he would kiss her cheek, or squeeze her hand, but he seemed business-like today and a little remote.
In Bond Street, Blair escorted Gina from one expensive store to the next. He placed her in the hands of the woman behind the counter and withdrew to smoke a cigar and read the paper.
The saleslady consulted him about every item Gina chose. The hours passed, and the pile of purchases grew. Two morning gowns, two tea gowns, a silk evening gown, and a beautiful ball gown, a wool coat, chemises, bloomers, shoes, slippers, and a hat. Blair gave a nod to some items and refused others. She was never to wear that sallow shade of green; he instructed. Gina blushed and glanced at the attendant’s face when Blair chose her nightgowns and negligees, but the sales lady remained poker-faced.
“You should allow me to choose these,” Gina said fiercely under her breath to him.
He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
“It’s a very personal thing.”
“But it is for me to enjoy, is it not?” he asked with a smile.
When he smiled at her, an unfamiliar craving tightened her stomach, along with the ever-present sense of shame.
Blair took Gina to lunch at Duke’s Hotel in St James’ Place. She drank two glasses of golden wine from a crystal goblet and picked at morsels of venison.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked. He’d eaten little himself.
She shook her head. “I’m too excited.”
He smiled like an indulgent father. “You’ve never been here before?”
“Never,” she said breathlessly looking around at the marble and the mirrors. She turned back to gaze shyly at him. “I suppose you come here often.”
“Occasionally.”
How little she knew about this man who was now a big part of her future. That thought made her shiver with excitement, but a small measure of disappointment lodged in her mind too.
She’d been determined to make her own way in the world, not just for herself, but to know that Milo and her mother would be proud of her. She was, after all, one of the new generation of women with more freedom than her mother ever dreamed of. She took a deep breath. Already a little in love with Blair, she longed to stroke his dark hair and see him smile down at her with adoration in his eyes. So at home in this world, he moved through it with confidence and grace. But she realized with a shock, that she was still a member of that other, demi-world, and now would always be.
Late in the afternoon, after they’d covered every aspect of Gina’s wardrobe including shoes, wide-brimmed hats, and jewelry, they drove to Hanover Square.
In the square, the imposing, well-appointed houses faced onto a lovely park.
When the coachman pulled up the carriage, Gina stared up at a three-story red-brick building with a white balustrade which was to be her home. She climbed from the carriage, as her knees shook, and her stomach continued to do somersaults.
The attic she’d shared with Milo would fit into the three-story apartment thirty times or more. She wandered around the elegant suite of rooms furnished in gold, rosy pinks and browns, marveling at the rich brocade curtains, gilded chairs and tapestry covered sofas. A dish of roses of every hue sat on a gilt-edged, round table. A lovely, hand-painted screen stood in one corner.
Mirrors and paintings in heavy, ornate gilt frames that decorated the burgundy-papered walls, made her think of Milo. A cord of guilt tightened within her. She told herself it was Lord Ogilvie who had driven her to this, but he now seemed a shadowy figure from her past. Questions crowded her mind. Had she chosen to come here because she couldn’t resist Blair Dunleavy? Might there have been another course of action open to her? One that offered her a more respectable life? She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. Was she about to relive her mother’s life? And what did fate have in store for her?
While Blair conferred with his staff below stairs, Gina walked over to the window overlooking the square. It was hard to believe they were in the middle of a big, bustling city. The park was like a green jewel with fine trees, lawns, flowerbeds, benches, and statuary. In the far corner of the square stood a fine church, its spire highlighted against the sky. It was every bit as beautiful here as Holland Park. She drew in a breath and wished she was calmer, so she might enjoy it.
The butler and the porter appeared, carrying boxes and packages into the bedchamber.
Gina followed them inside. She approached the big bed, all satins, and golds, and lifted the bedcover to find bed linens as pure a white as an early snowfall. Somehow, the comparison disturbed her. She withdrew the package Mabel had given her from her purse a
nd tucked it among the others. Her cheeks heated as she remembered Mabel’s detailed instructions.
Gina opened the parcels, undoing ribbons and strings and spreading the pretty things Blair had bought her over the bed. She extracted a wonderfully soft, sable muff and brushed it against her cheek. She rose and held up the delicate, taupe mousselaine de soie evening gown, trimmed with guipure lace, against herself, studying her reflection in the full-length mirror. The gown was from Paris and must have been expensive, but Blair merely nodded his assent to the purchase. She lay the gown down carefully and picked up a delicate, cream negligee and lace nightgown, so sheer, her hand showed through the material.
Would Blair want to do those things to her that Mabel had told her men liked? Would he expect her to respond the way Mabel said? The thought made Gina excited and horribly embarrassed. Would he wait until night-time? Even though she was nervous about stripping naked in front of him in broad daylight, she still yearned to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him and listened for his step outside the door.
She started when Blair knocked. “May I come in?” He came in before she answered and picked up the evening gown lying on the bed. “I’ll take you to the opera when the season begins.” He smiled. “Are you pleased with your new hat?”
“Oh yes.” She turned to the parcels on the bed and opened the big, round striped hatbox, carefully removing the hat from its bed of tissue paper. She touched the soft, blue feathers stroking the opulent velvet. Not the blue she wanted, Blair had insisted that wasn’t her color. This was a deep, lustrous royal blue that matched the trim on one of her gowns.
“Put it on.”
She set it squarely on her head. “Not like that.” He came and adjusted it, angling it slightly over her face. He was so close, she smelled his clean, musky fragrance.
She held her breath and studied his embroidered waistcoat and his gold watch chain, wondering how his body would look and feel, without clothes. When he tilted her chin to examine the hat, her eyes sought his, but he turned away to look in the mirror. “Perfect.” He stepped back. “See for yourself.”
She turned to look. Surely, that woman in the expensive hat was not her?
“Do you like it?”
“I love it,” she said, warm with gratitude.
Blair bowed. “I have to go out, Gina. I’ll see you at dinner. We’ll dine here, shall we?”
Relief mixed with disappointment made her uncertain of her feelings. She didn’t want to be alone. If only they might sit and talk. “Very well.”
“You have a maid. Her name is Mary. If you require her, ring the bell. Make full use of her. I believe she has a good way with hair.” He nodded approvingly at the hat again and left the room.
Gina sank down among the packages. She would try her best to be everything he wished tonight, equipped with the knowledge that Mabel had imparted. A quiver of anticipation traveled down her spine. The thought of doing those things with Blair caused a warm glow to spread down low in her stomach. She rolled over on the bed with a guilty, excited laugh.
“Did you call me, Madam?” Mary’s polite voice came from the next room.
“Oh? No, thank you, Mary,” Gina called flushing scarlet.
Chapter Thirteen
Blair strode into the bar and sat down beside Horace. “Well, it’s done,” he said.
Horace ordered another glass of wine from the waiter. He looked at Blair. “So, you’ve bedded her then.”
Blair shook his head. “No. She’s now ensconced in the apartment. I’m returning to dine there.”
Horace raised sandy brows. “You had her there alone and willing, and you didn’t make the beast with two backs?”
Blair grimaced at Horace’s unromantic quoting of Shakespeare. “No. To tell the truth, I’m a bit perturbed. I suspect Gina might be an innocent.”
“An artist’s model and a music hall dancer? I don’t think so.”
“I guess not, but….”
Horace laughed. “She’s an actress. You should be grateful. It all helps with the mood.”
“At one stage I did judge her to be decent,” Blair said thoughtfully.
“Decent girls don’t shed their clothes for a painter.”
“Russo was her step-father.”
“Decent girls don’t work at the Folly. And they don’t become mistresses.”
Blair took the glass of wine from the waiter. “You’re probably right.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “But she’s so sweet.”
“Sweet? You wouldn’t be foolish enough to fall in love with this painted lady, would you?”
“No,” Blair said uneasily. He only knew he wanted Gina at any cost.
Horace clinked his glass against Blair’s. “To your night of love-making, whether it be a night of instruction in its fine arts or a night of combined experience, matters not, my friend.”
Blair gazed into his glass and took a deep drink.
“I’d get back there soon if I were you,” Horace said. “It will be a great shame if you don’t remember the experience.”
Blair laughed. “Thanks for the advice, Horace.” But he was surprised to find he needed a bit of Dutch courage. Something quite new to him.
An hour later, Blair returned to the apartment to find the gaslights turned low. The crystal glassware and the silverware glowed in the light of a guttering branch of candles. Now past nine o’clock, he was aware that the servants hovered, waiting to serve dinner. He had drunk more than he intended, but was still clear headed and nowhere near foxed.
At his entrance, the door to the bedchamber opened. He halted half-way across the room as a cool, elegant woman emerged, wearing a peach satin gown with a beaded, low-cut bodice, her golden-blonde hair curled around her brow, the rest drawn into a fashionable knot. The pearl earrings he’d bought her, with the promise of something finer, dangled from her ears. The lively girl in the cheap gown had vanished and in her place stood a self-assured young woman.
“Gina.” Blair nodded taken aback. He had transformed her from a passionate firebrand of a girl into a woman like one of his own class, seemingly cool and untouchable. When he removed the expensive clothes, would the Gina he found so charming emerge?
“Good evening, Blair.”
His thoughts continued to their logical conclusion. Gina, lying naked on his bed. “You look lovely tonight,” he said, his voice tight.
“Thank you. May we have dinner now? I’m very hungry.”
“Of course. You would not be used to dining so late. I do apologize.” He rang the bell.
At the first ring, the butler entered, and the first course was served.
Gina picked up her spoon and began to eat. “Did you have a pleasant evening?” she asked politely.
“I did. And you?”
“Most enjoyable, thank you. I unpacked.”
“You have a maid for that, Gina.”
“I enjoy housework. I can unpack for you if you’d like.”
“I won’t keep much here. I have my own house as you know.”
“Oh.”
“I suppose you enjoy needlework?” he asked wondering what she would do when he was gone.
“Bah!”
Blair couldn’t help smiling. “I take it that means no?”
Gina’s breasts bounced invitingly with her sharp intake of breath. “I sew because I cannot afford store-bought clothes. Not because I like it. There are much better things to do.”
“I’m sure there are,” Blair said in a conciliatory tone.
“This tastes nice, what is it?”
“Turtle soup.”
“You’ll find I’m an excellent cook. My mother taught me. Do you like Italian food?”
“Yes, but that is not one of your duties.”
Gina put down her spoon. “You didn’t tell me what my duties were, apart from, you know…….” She shrugged her slim shoulders.
Blair’s lips twitched. “Are you trying to provoke me?”
She reached for a bread rol
l and buttered it. “No, of course not. Shouldn’t I have said it?”
Blair choked back a laugh. “No. You should be more discreet.”
She took a bite of the roll with even, white teeth. “Milo always told me to call a spade a spade.”
“Milo, God rest his soul, may not have been the best person to teach you etiquette.”
Gina’s eyes flashed. “I suppose not, but he was honest. I’m not sure I can adopt your ways.”
Blair pushed his plate away. “Gina, if you have something you want to say to me then say it.”
“I wouldn’t wish to spoil your dinner.”
“Rest assured that you won’t.”
“I’ve heard people put quite a high price on turtle soup,” Gina said inconsequentially, “but to me, it’s like brown salty water. I make a hearty bean soup; it sticks to the ribs....”
“Gina?”
“Yes?”
Blair sighed. “You are being deliberately provocative. Why?”
Gina pushed back her chair, her eyes flashing. “You say you want me, then you go and leave me for hours and hours, and then when you return, I find you’ve been drinking.” She turned and ran into the bedroom.
Blair followed, finding her lying curled up on the bed. He sat beside her, stroking her hair, his fingers trailing down over the velvety skin to the tendrils of golden hair at her nape. He held his breath. She was just perfect.
“I’m sorry,” she said in small voice. “I must be tired. I’ll be more like you want, I promise.” She looked up at him and a tear sparkled in the corner of her eye. He wasn’t sure if it was from sorrow or anger.
Blair felt that now familiar twist in his gut. He could get in far too deep with this young woman. He took her hands and pulled her up. “I want you to be you,” he said lightly. “Come and finish your dinner.”
They ate the roast fillet of beef, asparagus, and a dish of vegetables, almost in silence, maybe she thought of what followed. He certainly did, his fingers itched to slip that gown from her shoulders.
What a Gentleman Desires Page 7
