Dare to Kiss (3 page)

Once Tommy had eaten, he wandered off. Lily hurried to follow, to be sure he wasn't up to mischief, but found him asleep half-on, half-off the bed. She took off his boots, breeches, and coat and put him to bed. Michael came in and helped, though he looked as exhausted.

"Mama...?"

"Carpe diem," Lily reminded him. She kissed his forehead. "Go to bed, darling. We'll all need our strength tomorrow."

When she returned to the other room, Charlotte had piled up the dishes. "Should we take these down?"

She was sullen, and Lily knew that this respite was allowing her daughter's resentment to rise up. She needed to talk to Charlotte and Michael, to try to explain, but she quailed at the thought.

Perhaps moving on tomorrow would be preferable after all. When trying to survive, there was no time for analysis.

Two-year-old Anna woke. "Mama...?"

Lily scooped her up before she started an all-out-wail.

"Need to wee, mama...."

Charlotte pulled the chamber pot from under the bed. They'd all used it, and now Anna added to it. Something else that would need to be taken care of. Lily was tempted to open the window and hurl the contents down to the garden.

Guardez-loo!

So many trivial things, and yet they were building into a mountain.

"Hungry, mama."

"You missed your dinner, love. Come, there's some soup left."

She crumbled bread into the remains of the vegetable soup and helped Anna eat it, pushed almost to tears by the plight of her youngest child, who'd always been delicate and prone to coughs. Lily had been blessed not to lose a one of them when so many little ones died, but now she feared for them all.

Charlotte asked the question. "What happens tomorrow, mama?"

Lily gave her the same answer. "I don't know."

"We have nowhere else to go, do we?"

It was plain truth, but the accusation ran beneath it. And it's all your fault. We could still be living in comfort in our Bloomsbury home if you hadn't been a wicked, sinful woman.

Lily offered the most desperate solution, because it was the only one she saw. "Your father's family might take you all in."

"No! They've never liked us, and now..."

Now Lily had caused their son's death.

"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry, Charlotte. I'll think of something. I will. Go to bed now, darling. You deserve your rest."

Charlotte sighed, but she stripped down to her shift and climbed into the bed. Anna soon finished eating and could be settled in beside Charlotte. Lily moved the cooling bedpans to the empty side where she would sleep, but not yet.

She ached with weariness and longed to collapse, but she still had things to do. She put the girls' shoes near the hearth and spread their outer clothing over chairs and other furniture to absorb some of the warmth.

Not that it would do much good when the fire died. A lad had brought extra wood, so she added some, but it would die in an hour or two.

She put their petticoats, stockings, and gowns under the coverlet, so they'd not be so cold on the morrow. She went to the boys' room and did the same, pausing a moment to sigh over them. Tommy looked mischievous even in sleep, but Michael simply looked younger.

She must remember that he was a child and not depend on him so much. This was all her fault, and it was hers to amend.

She returned to the other room and sat by the fire, seeking a solution.

Only one came to mind. She thought about it as the clock ticked, but then nodded. She pushed back exhaustion and rose. She inspected herself in the mirror. Her stockings were soiled around the ankles, so she put on fresh ones, but otherwise she wasn't in too bad a state.

Amazing, really, that her ordeal hadn't marked her.

She was thirty-three years old, but still had her looks. Recently they'd been a burden, but now they might play to her advantage. She tidied her dark hair and bit her full lips together to make them pinker.

She wished she still had her paint pots, but they'd been jettisoned along with all other non-essentials for this journey. In any case, simplicity would serve her better here. Sir Benjamin Brook seemed to like simplicity.

Perhaps he was of a puritan persuasion. In that case she could only hope that a little human frailty remained -- and that he never learned her story.

If her host were not such a recluse, she'd never attempt this plan. The whole world had heard about Lillias Dellaby. The newspapers and ballad-writers had liked to use her full name. Perhaps it sounded more wicked than Lily, which was how she'd always been known. She'd taken back her maiden name and trained the children to use it, so Sir Benjamin should never make the connection. Being a recluse, he shouldn't recognize her.

The trial had been a cause celebre, and people of all ranks had crammed in to watch the proceedings. She'd worn a veil as much as possible, but been compelled to raise it to give her testimony. Those present would remember her face, and her image had been in print in various forms. Many had been cruel cartoons showing a bloated, blowsy slut who looked nothing like her. Some, however, had been skilled portrayals.

Did he read that sort of newspaper?

Even so, surely no one would guess that Mistress Gifford, simply dressed, her hair plaited and pinned up, her face free of all enhancement, was fashionable, wicked Lillias Dellaby?

She need fear only those she'd known, or those who'd sat in court, listening avidly to her testimony. Her confession.

Her host was a recluse, she reminded herself.

So, how did Sir Benjamin Brook, recluse, regard women? A young man of property, even if short of funds, must have had chances to wed.

There was always the possibility that he favored men, and that would leave her with no temptations to offer.

There was only one way to find out.

***

Ben was settled in his leather chair at his fireside, his dogs at his feet, a glass of port in hand. All would be well if he could forget that there were strangers in his house, people in distress who would need help tomorrow.

It fretted him that they would sleep in damp beds, but there was nothing he could do about that, and warming pans would help. There were fires in their rooms, and they'd been given food. Beggars can't be choosers, but concern for their discomfort was spoiling his evening.

He was even feeling guilty for fleeing and leaving them to his servants, but he hated having anything to do with strangers, especially children. Most adults attempted to be polite, but children stared and shrank away as if he were a monster.

A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts.

It had to be one of the intruders. Doubtless the mother. He ignored it.

Then the knob turned, and the door slowly opened.

He stared at the woman in affront, but then saw how embarrassed she looked, perhaps even afraid to intrude.

And quite lovely.

Shrouded in cloak and shawl, at the end of her tether, she'd not seemed remarkable, but now she made him inhale. Her pinned-back hair was thick and dark, her face an elegant oval. Her brows and lashes were dark, and her lips...

Her full lips were any man's dream.

Or nightmare.

She was staring at him in horror.

He pressed his lips together as he stood, and tried to keep them that way as he spoke. "Ma'am? Mistress Gifford. May I assist you?"

She smiled. Had he imagined the horror? He could see none now. Hers wasn't a polite smile, but a truly glowing one.

"Sir Benjamin!" She came toward him. "I hesitated to intrude, but I feared I hadn't thanked you enough. You have been extraordinarily kind, sir."

Her voice was pleasantly mellow and her speech ladylike. Who was this beautiful woman and how had she come to these straits?

And how could she look at him like that?

In the mirror of her expression, he could almost imagine himself flawless.

He relaxed his lips to test the effect. "I was only doing my Christian duty, ma'am."

Nothing changed in her face. "Not all Christians do, sir, as we have found at times."

"It says somewhere in the Bible that beggars provide the opportunity..."
Damnation.
"Not that you are a beggar, ma'am. I do beg your pardon."

Humor twinkled in her fine, dark eyes, but then died. "As close as, I fear, sir. We are in a desperate state."

He hesitated over taking such a momentous step, but then said, "Won't you sit by the fire for a moment, ma'am? If you're not too tired. I would like to know your story."

She hesitated, and he realized that her being here alone with him could be seen as improper.

"I apologize again. You may not wish..."

"I would not insult you, sir, by seeing shame in my sitting with you to seek your advice."

She went to close the door and then returned to sit in the second chair he'd hastily moved close to the fire, opposite his own. When had anyone last sat here to speak with him? William Hudson had visited, but that must have been four years ago or more. Cousin Perry came by now and then, when his gadfly life brought him in this direction.

Ben liked Perry, but he was a creature from another world -- a world full of fashionable people, where strangers were a novelty to jaded lives, and deformed ones cause for malice.

Mistress Gifford, seated opposite him, softly lit by candle and firelight, should be equally alien, but she didn't feel so.

Ben sank back into his seat, realizing that no woman had ever intruded here before. His mother had died only eight years ago, but she'd always regarded the library as a masculine domain.

Apart from his mother and whores, he'd never been alone with a woman since his nursery days.

"Advice?" he managed. He poured himself more port, and then hesitated. "Would you..?"

She shook her head.

Of course not, you dolt. Ladies don't drink port
.

"How may I help you, Mistress Gifford?"

Hands neatly in lap, she said, "You have already helped us so much, sir, but I must confess to you that I have no idea where to go tomorrow. My aunt and uncle here were my only surviving relatives."

"They were connections of your husband's, I assume. I am correct that you are a widow?"

"Sadly, yes, sir. But as for the name, I was born a Gifford and married a distant cousin, also Gifford. He was an orphan without close family. To add to our distress, we are almost penniless. My husband's income was an annuity that died with him." She sighed, and perhaps tears glinted in her eyes. "I'm not expecting you to be able to do magic, Sir Benjamin, but I could not sleep without seeking hope. Might you know of any employment for me? Five children makes finding a position daunting, but I thought you might know of a single lady needing a companion... I would work very hard and make sure the children kept out of my employer's way."

"Daunting is putting it mildly, Mistress Gifford. Why would anyone employ you when there are many ladies without encumbrances seeking such employment?"

She put a hand to her face. "I feared as much. I have no hope!"

Why be so blunt, you idiot?

"Will you tell me a little of your story, ma'am, so I can seek a solution for you?"

She lowered her hand and smiled at him. It was a sad smile, but lovely. Very lovely.

She turned her head to gaze into the fire. It was an exquisitely graceful movement, perhaps because her neck was slender. At her nape, short, dark hairs curled softly. Firelight touched her profile, her full, parted lips....

"If you knew my uncle here," she said, "you may know that my father, his brother, was a curate. I was his only child. We had little money, but we did well enough. Thomas, my husband, came to visit us, and we fell in love. He was a scholar and tutor. His work brought in little income, but we were happy until his recent death. An infection of the lungs."

"My condolences, ma'am."

"Thank you, sir. It was a dreadful blow. And I fear for Anna, who seems to have a weak chest."

He wanted to reach out and take her hand in comfort, but it would be too far a reach in all respects.

"It would be a sorry thing to see you and your children in a workhouse, Mistress Gifford, and the older ones sent out to work."

"A workhouse?" Her eyes widened in new distress.

What a clumsy oaf he was, but facts were facts.

"That must not be!" she protested. "I do accept that my dear ones might have to work instead of continuing their education, but employers who take children from a workhouse often treat them little better than slaves."

"It won't come to that," he promised, aware his promise was rash, but unable to do otherwise. He scrabbled for some other solution. "I've heard of charitable associations set up to assist gentlewomen in distress." For some reason, that didn't soothe her. "If not that, perhaps you could be assisted to set up a business. Yes, a shop. Your children could assist you there."

He was rewarded with a slight smile. "You give me hope, Sir Benjamin. That could be our salvation. We are all willing to work."

She leaned forward, stretching out a grateful hand, which allowed him to stretch to take it. "I will do all in my power, ma'am. And, of course, you and your children must remain here for a little while as I make enquiries."

Her soft hand tightened on his. "You are kind far beyond our desserts."

He squeezed back. Such a simple contact to wreak such havoc in his mind and body. "Nonsense, dear lady. What have any of you done to deserve your situation?"

She rose. He rose, still holding her hand. It brought them closer.

She looked up at him as if he were Saint George and she the princess chained before the dragon. He was astonished again to see no trace of discomfort with his appearance.

He found himself raising their hands to his lips, something he'd never done before. He touched his closed lips to her knuckles, shivering, wishing a miracle would happen that would allow him to press his lips to hers.

He'd never kissed a woman, not even a whore.

Perhaps she sensed the nature of his shameful thoughts, for she drew her hand free and looked away. "I have no words..." she whispered. "My dear, dear Sir Benjamin, good night!"