David Lord of Honor (The Lonely Lords) (3 page)

“I insist, Mrs. Banks,” her host said gently. “You will hurt Mrs. Moses’s feelings if you refuse her offering. She’s quite sensitive.”

Letty knew housekeepers, and had she gone ’round to Mrs. Moses’s back door, she would have met with the domestic equivalent of a full-grown, well-fed bulldog, intent on guarding the master’s last bucket of scraps.

“I am hungry.” Famished, halfway to starving, if the fit of her dresses was any indication. One shouldn’t lie, not to others and not to oneself.

Lord Fairly picked up a plate, and as she had for him, arranged a generous portion of ham, cheese, pale bread—crusts sliced off—and crisp apple slices on it. She accepted the food with a silent prayer of gratitude, making sure this time their fingers did not brush. By sheer discipline, Letty did not use both hands to cram the food in her mouth.

“I do not think Mrs. Moses’s feelings could be so hurt she’d hold it against you for long, my lord. Given your charm, she’d sooner apologize for overloading the tray.”

He looked pleased. “You accuse me of charm? My sisters say otherwise. They say I am entirely too dour and withdrawn, and because I don’t go about in Society much, they might have a point.”

Men did not mention their sisters to Letty Banks, though this man apparently did.

“Perhaps you are shy.” She bit into an apple first, an apple that had been carefully stored in a cold cellar and still had most of its sweet crispness and only a hint of earth about its flavor.

“I’m not shy, exactly.” Though his lordship’s expression came close to bashful. “I enjoy people well enough, or some people, but I also need my solitude.”

Letty made herself pause in her eating, a bite of cheese in hand. “Were you in my profession, you would have plenty of solitude.” She ought not to have said that, but hunger was making her light-headed and more heavy-hearted than usual.

His lordship peered over at her, his sandwich two inches from a mouth that sported the even white teeth of the aristocrat who troubled about his hygiene. When he smiled, those teeth were in evidence, as was a warm benevolence that beamed from his gorgeous eyes and made Letty ache to be worthy of his regard.

His respect, rather.

“I’m sorry,” Letty said, though she didn’t put down her bite of cheese. “That was a vulgar thing to say when you are being so… civil.”

“Not vulgar, honest. I appreciate honesty, and I never considered solitude might be a large part of a courtesan’s life. I have wondered, though, if the girls at The Pleasure House don’t remain there in part because having other females…”

He trailed off, looking away toward the side window, though he hadn’t drawn the drapes on either one. The flurries had thickened outside, whirling about on cold gusts and turning the day from gray to grayer.

“I believe,” he said, topping up Letty’s teacup, “I am the one who must now apologize. I should not have mentioned that establishment in your presence.”

Steam curled up from her cup, putting her in mind of the incense that used to be part of the highest church services. “Whyever not? I send you business, you know. And I am a courtesan, of sorts, as you said. While I enjoy the company manners you show me, my lord, I understand that with women of my ilk, they are entirely discretionary.”

She put the cheese on her tongue, savored the salt and tang of good, sharp cheddar, let it warm for a moment, then slowly, slowly chewed a bite of heaven.

Only to find her host’s expression had become quite… severe.

“Mrs. Banks, every female is deserving of decent manners. I insist upon it in my establishment, and it pains me sorely that you would not feel entitled to the same treatment.”

The cheese was so delicious, so devastatingly nourishing to the body and spirit, Letty nearly missed the sense of his lordship’s words.

She rolled up a slice of ham with her fingers, as he’d done. “Feeling entitled to manners and being shown them are two different things. You heard those young gentlemen at the jeweler’s. I pay a price for who and what I am. I accept that.”

One shouldn’t resent a penance, though Letty did. She also ate the ham, which was perfectly seasoned, a bit smoky, a bit sweet. His lordship’s quibbling over the civilities was all very impressive—perhaps his variety of calculation demanded manners—but a good meal was more impressive yet.

He sat back, making the chair creak and reminding Letty, that for all his golden good looks and exquisite tailoring, Lord Fairly was a large, fit man—as the late Lord Amery had been—and he had yet to state his true agenda.

“You shouldn’t accept rudeness, Mrs. Banks. Boys in a pack like that want a whipper-in, lest they run riot. You have piqued my curiosity, however.”

Hunting analogies found their way into all too many discussions of Letty’s profession. She munched her ham and debated between the bread or the apple next.

“You mentioned you send me business,” Fairly said. “In particular, you recently suggested Lord Valentine Windham might find someone suited to his needs at my establishment. He’s a decent man, pleasant enough to look on, clean about his person, and so forth. If you are without a protector, Mrs. Banks, as those nasty boys implied, why not allow him your company?”

The question stunned her, both because it was more personal than if Fairly had propositioned her himself, and because it implied that a man she’d met on one other occasion months ago had intimate knowledge of her circumstances.

At what point did a woman become notorious?

“Young Windham was rather downcast to be rejected,” he went on, “though I’m sure he was gracious about it. He likes you, you see, and probably would still be interested, were you amenable. And if Windham is unacceptable to you, perhaps my man, Thomas—”

He broke off when she stood quickly enough to provoke more light-headedness. Letty hadn’t seen this coming, hadn’t realized a brothel owner would know how to procure without even appearing to do so. Her disappointment was sufficiently profound that she had to move away from the food, lest she disgrace herself with the resulting upset.

“There’s the problem, my lord, is it not?”

He rose as well, probably out of blasted good manners, and joined Letty at the bay window overlooking the dormant side garden.

“You have me at a loss,” he said, standing at her shoulder, and heaven defend her, Fairly’s scent was sublime, all spices and sweetness, sandalwood, flowers, and wealth.

“It doesn’t do, your lordship,” Letty said, the cold from the window almost welcome, “to like one’s protector, at least not for me.” And probably not for the women who worked for Lord Fairly, did he but know it.

“You have a novel approach to selecting a partner for your intimate attentions, Mrs. Banks: you bed only men you don’t like? I don’t suppose the late Lord Amery was aware of your criterion.”

His tone had become analytical, perhaps to hide his lordly dismay, for by his lights—his innocent lights, in some regard—whores were no doubt at all times to enjoy their work.

“Our conversation grows too personal.” Though, somehow, not rude. Letty ducked around his lordship and returned to her seat on the couch and to the warmth thrown out by the fire. “I’m sure you meant no offense.”

“Of course not,” he said, resuming his seat as well.

He picked up a slice of apple from her plate—his plate was empty—and popped it into his mouth.

“You find this humorous?” she asked a touch sharply. She’d had plans for that apple slice.

“Eat,” he said, his tone suggesting he liked a woman with some temper, the idiot. “If you had used such a severe tone on those puppies at the jeweler’s, they would still be howling their indignation and surprise. Well done, Mrs. Banks.”

He did not like her temper; he
approved
of it. Letty digested that, along with the rest of her cheese and ham, and a second cup of tea. The food settled, as good food would, and the tea…

The hot, strong, sweet tea made her want to cry. The pot sat swaddled in a thick white towel to keep the heat in, while Letty hadn’t a thick white towel left to sell. Outside, the snow had picked up, and the distance to Letty’s door stretched impossibly far.

The viscount struck Letty as the cuddling sort, and he’d give off heat like a parlor stove. Would it really have been so awful to spend the night tucked up in his embrace, a hot breakfast brought to them tomorrow morning, and a sum of coins jingling in Letty’s pockets when she parted from him?

The thought appalled her for its very wistfulness.

“The hardest thing…” She’d said the words aloud, though she hadn’t meant to. She hoped he’d ignore her queer start, but he only regarded her from one blue eye and one green eye, both of which were beautiful, and… kind.

Those eyes had made him an outcast, had made him comfortable with being an outcast.

Letty broke a slice of bread in half, but couldn’t get it to her mouth fast enough to stop more words from tripping forth. “The hardest thing was when he’d spend inside me. Lord Amery, that is.”

She hared off back to the window, wrapping her arms around her middle against a cold beyond what the weather threatened. His lordship did not understand why a woman needed to hate her protector, and Letty would share that insight with him, even though he was a stranger and she expected him remain so.

Fairly needed to understand that a woman raised to love her neighbor was slowly filling with hatred, even as her belly went empty, day after day.

“And that hurt you,” he said, standing more closely than on their last trip away from the fire’s warmth. “More than his indifference to your needs of a physical nature.”

The only need she had left of a physical nature was the need to be left alone, or so she hoped.

Letty hadn’t cried in months, not in years. Not when Herbert Allen had died, not when Olivia regularly failed to include even a word about Danny in her infrequent notes.

A hot trickle down her cheek informed her she was crying now.

“The worst hurt,” Fairly went on, “was that he would risk getting a child with you, because that was disregard for the entire remainder of your life, and for the child’s life too. A child you would have been solely responsible for, despite assurances to the contrary. And all so Amery might have a few moments, a few
instants
, of pleasure.”

He had a beautiful voice to go with his beautiful eyes. He could have offered sermons on damnation and hellfire, and the congregation would have listened raptly, because that voice was kind and knowing. His touch, when he turned her by the shoulders and brought her into his embrace, was kind and knowing too.

Damnably, devastatingly, irresistibly kind.

He drew her against his body slowly, giving her the ongoing chance to flee, or offer him another scold for being too personal, but she stood in the circle of his arms without the strength even to return his embrace.

Two

Letty Banks was too slender. The physician in David, an aspect of himself he’d often resented, took note of shoulder blades, nape, and wrist bones, all too much in evidence.

The man in him comforted her anyway, pressed her face to his shoulder, and stroked his hands over her back until she leaned against him.

She had apparently needed to cry, because minutes passed with him holding her thus. At no point did she slide her arms around him, but David didn’t need her to. He could feel the heat rising from her body, and with it, a faint fragrance of roses. He’d caught the scent briefly before, when he’d bounced up to her full of flattery and ready to kill her detractors in the jeweler’s shop.

The fragrance teased him now: subtle, feminine, sweet, and enticing.

She was skinny, and he also had the impression that she was exhausted in body and spirit. Something in the way her weight rested against him, something that sought shelter despite her dignity gave away her fatigue.

Her tears quieted, and still he held her.

“Don’t apologize. A lady is entitled to her tears.” He fished a handkerchief from a pocket without letting her go, and handed it to her, knowing she’d want to use it before allowing him to see her face.

Though Desdemona, Musette, or any other woman in David’s employ would exploit a tearstained countenance to make him feel guilty—and do so quite successfully.

“I’m going to fix you another cup of tea,” he said, walking her back to the couch with an arm around her shoulders. “You will drink it. You will also finish the food on your plate, if you please, lest I conclude my company has put you off your appetite.”

A physician learned how to cajole like this—teasing and stern, both.

He took a seat beside her, their hips touching, and kept an arm around her back as he prepared her tea with one hand. He didn’t look at her face all the while, though he wanted to. He wanted to see her eyes, wanted to know that the vacant, hopeless mask of the Covent Garden streetwalker would not gaze back at him.

“You must not be shy with me, Mrs. Banks. I have two sisters, both of whom are breeding—again—and I have many lovely employees of the female persuasion. Women cry, I assure you, and you have more to cry about than most.”

She clutched the warm teacup with both hands, obediently sipping. When she put her tea down, he piled more food on his own plate and held it for her.

“Eat. Every bite, if you please.”

“I am not that hungry,” she said, a spark of dignity returning.