How to Handle a Scandal (8 page)

But now, as Tommy and his friends stood in the corridor talking, Matthew leaned close to say in a low voice, “Nitwet’s here. In the drawing room.”

Tommy muttered a curse. He’d played Nitwet at a club a few days before and taken quite a bit of money off him. The man had been angry when Tommy had refused to play further that night, but it had become apparent to Tommy that Nitwet was in dire financial straits.

“He’ll insist you play him here and now. Depend on it,” Matthew said. “But he hasn’t a chance. He’s good, but you’re better.”

Stephen nodded. “And you’d be in a fair way to winning his last farthing and his estate as well.”

Tommy frowned, knowing he wouldn’t take any more of the man’s money, however much Nitwet might, idiotically, insist it was a matter of honor.

“We ought to leave before he sees us, then,” Tommy said.

His friends agreed, but before they could make their way to the front door, which was beyond the card room, Nitwet emerged from the drawing room. With the crowd in the corridor, Tommy wouldn’t make it to the door in time to avoid him.

“Damn.” He cast a glance behind him toward the stairs and saw his only option. “Go on to White’s,” he told his friends. “I’ll duck upstairs until he’s gone and meet you later.”

His friends nodded and he quickly made for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Once in the upstairs corridor, he looked around and, knowing he still risked meeting Nitwet if he lingered in the corridor, he knocked on the first door he came to. When there was no reply, he went in and, remembering the custom, plucked the charm that hung from a black ribbon on the inside knob and draped it over the outside knob to indicate the room was occupied, lest some pair of lovers think to use the room after Madame Persaud’s vaunted choosing. He turned the key in the lock.

The room was dim, with only the light of a low fire in the hearth, but it smelled pleasantly of sandalwood. Madame Persaud’s being a fairly tasteful establishment, there was a handsome if narrow bed, which was festooned with pillows and bore a crisp, white coverlet that proclaimed the freshness of the furnishings.

Chuckling a little at how he’d ended up there, he sat on the bed, then swung his legs onto it and stretched comfortably out on his back with his hands behind his head. He felt pleasantly alone and unreachable, a sensation that, as a guest of one household or another, he’d not experienced since returning from India.

* * *

Though it was dim in the room, Eliza nevertheless knew who was now lying in apparently relaxed contentment on the bed. When she’d heard steps in the corridor, she’d quickly hidden herself by the side of the large wardrobe near the window. When the door opened, making her knees tremble as she tried desperately to make no sound, she’d seen the side of Tommy’s face lit by the corridor sconce.

What was he doing here—in this room, in this bawdy house? Was he waiting for a woman? She desperately hoped not, but she didn’t see how it could be otherwise. Really, though, did he need to frequent such a place? From the reactions of pretty much every female in London, Eliza would have supposed feminine favors would be his for the taking.

Remaining rigidly unmoving in her hiding place behind the wardrobe, she wondered if she might simply wait him out. Though if he was waiting for someone, which seemed likely, the immediate future did not bear thinking about. And yet, she’d thought she’d heard him lock the door.

“I can hear you breathing, you know,” he said in a mild voice from the bed.

A startled gasp escaped her.

“Oh,” she said, making her voice higher as she’d done downstairs so he wouldn’t recognize it. But then she was at a loss as to what to say.

He laughed. “Aren’t you going to explain yourself? Come here where I can see you.”

Gad
.

But resisting his request would only make this worse. And she
was
wearing a mask and hair powder—she’d even fooled Adderbrooke. Plus, it was dim in the room with only the glow of the fire and a few threads of moonlight curling around the edges of the curtains. She must simply brazen it out.

She moved out of the shelter of the wardrobe. “Please excuse me, my lord. I’m new here.”

“Ah,” he said softly, turning onto his side and bending his elbow to prop his head up on his hand. “I’m not a lord, my dear. Just a man. Is this is your first night?” And there it was—playfulness and warmth in his voice, exactly what had been missing from everything he’d said to her since his return.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Is it perhaps,” he continued, “that you’re not certain you’ve chosen the right path?”

“Er, perhaps.”

“It’s not a bad life here, I think. Or at least, it isn’t for the women who have generous and considerate patrons. But it’s not for everyone. Come, is there nothing else you might do?”

This got her dander up—men were so terminally blind to the crushing forces working against women. “No, there isn’t,” she said tartly, then bit her lip as she remembered that she mustn’t make herself too distinctive or she’d risk piquing his curiosity, or even revealing her identity somehow. “I…failed as a governess, and the pay I’d receive if I took work as a maid is atrocious.” She tried to ignore the realization that she had just espoused Franny’s argument for becoming a prostitute.

He chuckled. “You express yourself ably. I see that you’re well educated. So, you’ve fallen on hard times?”

“You could say that.” Though he didn’t know who she was and this situation was ridiculous, somehow lying outright to him felt wrong.

“And so you made a study of the possibilities and concluded that coming to a place like this was your best hope?”

“It seems to be the way many women find to provide for themselves.”

He was silent for long moments, and she began to worry that he’d recognized her, or her voice, even though she’d made it breathy and girlish, or that he was examining what she’d said carefully. None of those possibilities were good.

She’d be better off getting him to talk about himself—and in truth, she was curious. “What brought you here tonight, sir?”

“Some friends,” he said. “It’s a decent establishment, but I would as soon have gone home to my bed. However, there was an awkward situation about to develop downstairs with a fellow who wants to take revenge for rather a lot of money he lost to me at cards. He has hardly a farthing left, and he’ll want to stake his estate. It seemed easier to simply avoid running into him in a place where people gamble. So here I am”—he chuckled—“hiding.”

Admirable of him. But then, he’d always been a good man.

“It seems we both are,” she said because it seemed unnatural not to reply since he was being friendly and she was supposed to be a woman in need of a kind word.

“So, are you coming to any decisions here in your hiding place?” he asked.

“Decisions?”

“As to your plans for the immediate future. Do you mean to acquire a protector?” He sat up and swung his legs to the floor. He seemed to lean forward, as if to make her out better. Even though he was sitting, she sensed the breadth of his shoulders and chest as they moved nearer to her space.

“I…don’t know,” she said.

“Come closer and let me see you. I’m as red-blooded as the next man. Shall I predict your likelihood of success?”

“Er,” she breathed.
As red-blooded as the next man
… She hardly wanted to risk getting closer to him when any minute he might discern something familiar about her. But his words gave her a shiver of the kind of excitement she didn’t allow herself anymore.

“Don’t be shy,” he urged in a kind voice. “Tell me your name.”

With an inward sigh, she said, “Victoria.” She desperately hoped that she’d somehow escape without running into Roundswell or Adderbrooke again, but just in case, it seemed wise to stick to the character she’d created. But here with Tommy, she was starting to feel less like the creation she’d dreamed up when she’d set out that night, and more like she used to feel when she was young and ready to do anything.

She forced herself to mentally recite an aphorism about self-discipline that Gerard had taught her.

“Victoria,” Tommy repeated. “I have a niece with that name. You may call me Tommy. But I can only just see you, Victoria, with the poor light in here. Come closer. I won’t bite.” He chuckled softly. “Unless you want me to.”

“No!” she said too forcefully and in her own voice. To cover the mistake, she stepped a little closer and said in the girlish voice, “I’m sure I won’t need any, er, biting.”

He laughed again. She’d forgotten what an irresistible laugh he had.

“Closer,” he urged again. Then, in a voice that held a note of suspicion, “Unless there’s something you’re trying to hide?”

“Of course not.” She forced herself to move nearer to the bed. In for a penny, in for a pound, and if he recognized her, well, he already had a terrible opinion of her. What would it matter?

Although she had really begun to hate that he didn’t like her anymore. They’d once been such good friends, and being with him now, while he didn’t know who she was, was quite nice.

But
nice
was the wrong word. He made her heart flutter, and her lips felt warm, as though they were buzzing. It was the magic of attraction—that old, unpredictable magic she’d told herself she must do without if she wanted her life to be on the right course.

And her life
was
on the right course. She was accomplishing good things, helping people, leading a worthwhile life. It was all good, except for that stray feeling of emptiness that sometimes dogged her, the ungrateful sadness over the child she’d never had even though she had everything else.

Well, maybe not
everything
else. She thought again of the prostitutes talking about the men who made their hearts race. Of the things they liked doing with men—things that were mysterious to her.

The fire snapped as a bit of sap heated, and she nearly jumped. But she ignored the tension that was making her feel like a tightly strung wire and forced herself forward to stand right in front of Tommy. He regarded her steadily in the low firelight, then gave a soft whistle.

“Your figure alone would assure your appeal, Victoria. But you also have lovely eyes, a pretty chin, and a very enticing mouth. I don’t suppose you wish to remove the mask so I can assess the rest?”

“No.”

He smiled, and she did too. She liked that he could see her smile and little else of her face.

“I suppose your hair is a light color under that unnecessary powder?”

“I like the powder.”

He made a skeptical sound. “There’s something about you… I like what I’ve seen of you so far. But if you’ll forgive me for saying so, I wonder if you’ll be comfortable working here. A certain boldness is required.”

“I can be bold.” Lack of boldness had never been her problem, although this seemed to be a new kind of boldness he was talking about.

“Really,” he said with that same note of skepticism. “Well, it’s certainly bold for a former governess to decide to take on a lightskirt’s role. But will you be bold in the bedroom arts?”

Eliza flushed from her head to her toes. As a widow, she was used to people speaking more plainly than they might around debutantes, but nobody had ever said the words “bedroom arts” to her.

Hearing these words from Tommy now made her feel as though she knew nothing at all about what went on between men and women. There had never been anything about Gerard’s hesitant touches that she would have described as skillful. She swallowed.

“I’m certain I shall manage. I have been with a man before.”

“Is that what turned your mind to this way of life? An affair with the lord of the manor perhaps?”

“Something like that. I know that I cannot conceive.”

“Oh?” He took her hand, and the touch of his large, warm hand sent excitement through her. He tugged her a little closer.

“Would you like to practice your boldness a little before you become a professional? I propose a kiss. As one who has something of a history of kissing, I believe I might offer you an estimation as to how well you will fare.”

She ought to resist. She knew there were costs to indulging herself, and she made better choices now. But tonight she’d begun to see that maybe there were experiences she’d missed.

Temptation, thy name is Tommy Halifax.

She stared down at the wicked tilt teasing the edge of his mouth and knew that whatever he was proposing was a terrible idea. He’d said a kiss, but who knew if he meant to stop there? And even if he did mean just a kiss, was she insane, to be tempted to kiss him when she was probably the last woman in the world whose lips he’d want to touch with his own? She’d read hatred in his eyes that night years ago, and though he’d said he accepted her apology, she wouldn’t be surprised if some of that feeling still lingered, hidden by a polite veneer.

Yet, she yearned to touch him. She wanted him to enjoy her company as much as he once had—as much as he was clearly now enjoying Victoria’s.

And how could Victoria decline his request anyway? She was supposed to be a woman seeking to be a strumpet—wouldn’t he be suspicious if she turned prudish?

Mischief sparkled in his eyes and her heart thumped in thrilling reply. Mischief was something she’d never been able to resist.

“Of all the nerve,” she said lightly, smiling. His invitation had given her permission to be bold, and she placed her palm along the hard jaw that had so fascinated her.

One black eyebrow rose in a pirate’s misbehaving slant, and the white of his teeth flashed as he grinned. “If there’s one thing that I’ve never been said to be lacking, it’s nerve.” With a tug on her arm, he pulled her sideways onto his lap.

Her heart stuttered and she thought for a moment she might swoon. He smelled extremely good, a little like sandalwood, a lot like something that, if she’d had to name it, she would have called, with a giddy sigh,
swashbuckling
.

“I can see that,” she said. She didn’t even need to summon Victoria’s breathy voice because her own had turned soft and hushed.