Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

Chapter 6

As the carriage traveled swiftly through the streets, she didn’t want this magical night to end. Leaning against James, her head on his shoulder, was scandalous, and yet she seemed unable to help herself. She wanted his arm around her, but she knew that was far too much. It was enough that he held her gloved hand in his.

Whenever she’d imagined a kiss, it had never involved a man boldly sweeping his tongue through her mouth, exploring every inch of it as though he owned it. With James’s kiss, the heat had swirled in her belly and rolled outward until even the tips of her fingers and toes burned.

Oh, he was very skilled at seduction-her James Swindler. Yet as he caused pleasure to build within her, it was as though he revealed things about himself as well. He was strong, confident, accustomed to having his way-yet he acquired what he wanted not by force, but by persuasion. She thought she could have easily disappeared into the shadows behind the trees with him, never to return and never to regret it.

The kiss had shaken her to the core. Judging by his reaction, it had done the same to him.

Had Rockberry done this with Elisabeth? Had he charmed her, kissed her, pushed her away, only to lure her back in?

She didn’t want Rockberry to intrude on her thoughts tonight, not when they were so filled with James. She wished she’d come to London for another purpose entirely, wished she’d been the first daughter sent, wished she and James had crossed paths a year ago when she wasn’t consumed with grief and the need for retribution. It was horrible to hate someone as she did Rockberry. It tainted even the most glorious moments, made her feel as though she didn’t deserve them because her sister had never experienced them.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

Once again she was amazed how he always seemed to know when to speak and when to remain silent.

“How different I was before Elisabeth died. How I wish you’d known me then.”

“I like you very much now.”

“Tragedy changes us, not always for the better, I think.”

“It can give purpose to our life.”

She peered up at him. “Is that what it did for you?”

“After my father died, yes.”

“You became a thief. Hardly an ambition for which to be commended.”

“I sought to survive, any way that I could. We do what we must.”

Would he understand if she explained to him what she must do? “You must have been very grateful when Lord Claybourne took you into his home.”

“Not at first.” James gave a low chuckle, a rasp that settled on the night air and lingered to tease her senses, to make her smile. “He insisted we be clean, bathe every week, rather than once a year. I thought for certain that we were done for, that we’d all take ill and die. But we didn’t. He bought us clothes that fit. He hired tutors. I was terrified of him, so I didn’t dare disobey.”

“Did he beat you?”

“No,” he said succinctly. “Never raised a hand to any of us except possibly his grandson. I never quite understood why he took in the rest of us. Maybe because of his love for his grandson. We were his friends. Perhaps he didn’t want him to be alone in his new surroundings.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten. The youngest of the lot.”

“Then, earlier, when I said I wanted to see where you grew up, I suppose I misspoke. It wasn’t the rookeries. It was Lord Claybourne’s.”

“No, I grew up far more in the rookeries than I did at Claybourne’s. It’s a myth that age is determined by years. I didn’t stay at Claybourne’s all that long. A few years. When Jack Dodger and Frannie left, so did I.”

“Who are they?” She enjoyed listening to him talk. Wanted to know every detail of his life, even when she wasn’t willing to share hers.

“Jack Dodger, a scoundrel of the highest order. A very wealthy one at that. He owns Dodger’s Drawing Room. A very exclusive gentlemen’s club.”

Where Rockberry was a member. He’d gone there twice now since she’d arrived in London. James paused to study her, and she wondered what he was searching for-if he knew she was well acquainted with Dodger’s and what it represented.

“And Frannie…she recently became the Duchess of Greystone,” James finally continued.

She heard deep abiding affection in his voice when he spoke of Frannie. A spark of jealousy flared, and she fought valiantly to tamp it down. What right did she have to experience such a reaction to a name, to a woman who could be more to him that she ever could? “She’s special to you.”

She wished she could have taken the words back. What was it about this night that made it perfect for slipping beneath the surface of whatever was developing between them? Why was she even asking all these questions when she knew he would never have a permanent place in her life?

“She was-is-special to all of us. She’s always been like a little mother. When we were no longer children, she sought out other orphans, built a children’s home for them. Oversees it. Plans to build another.”

“And is a duchess. It’s almost like a fairy tale isn’t it? A daughter of the streets becoming a duchess.”

“I suppose your father had hoped that for you and your sister. A titled gentleman.”

She imagined she heard more in his words, in his inflection-a reminder that he himself was not titled. And while she knew her father had wanted her to marry a man with a title, she only said, “I think he wanted us to marry well, and for my father, I believe that meant marrying a man who would make us happy.”

“What would make you happy, Eleanor?”

Happiness was fleeting, she was discovering. A few hours ago she’d been overflowing with it, and now it was seeping out of her just like the air that had escaped from the balloon so they could return to earth. The nearer they traveled to her lodgings, the more reality began to shove aside dreams and possibilities.

“This evening made me very happy, James.”

She was aware of him scrutinizing her as they passed beneath the streetlamps, and she knew that he intuitively understood what she hadn’t said. They settled back into silence as though they both knew they were destined to make choices that would leave them each alone.

When the driver pulled the carriage to a stop in front of her lodgings, the groom climbed down and opened the door, handing her down. James joined her and walked her to the front door.

“How long will you be in London?” he asked.

“I’m not certain.”

“If I were to bring the carriage back ’round two tomorrow, would you grant me the pleasure of going on a picnic with me?”

She smiled warmly. “I would.”

Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and in spite of the gloves, she felt the heat of his mouth through the cloth. “Tomorrow, then.”

Taking her key, he unlocked the door and stood on the stoop until she closed the door. As she walked up the stairs, she thought her step should have been light. Instead, it was weighted down with guilt and deception. And she wondered when the time came, how she would ever walk away from him.

Swindler was not a man who often made mistakes, but when he did they were large and regrettable. During the past week, he’d arranged a series of outings for Eleanor and accompanied her on each one: Madame Tussaud’s, an opera, picnic in the gardens, another visit to Cremorne for the fireworks that so delighted her. He began each day with the best of intentions-to deduce her purpose regarding Lord Rockberry-but he became protective of his time with her. He didn’t want to discern her purpose where Rockberry was concerned.

Swindler was more interested in learning all he could about the lady herself, and his mind was further occupied in striving to determine how to have private moments alone with her in order to secure another kiss. He’d thought to seduce her, and he was the one being seduced.

But the time had come when he needed to face his responsibilities. Before he did, however, he wanted to give Eleanor one lasting gift, a night she’d long remember, even if she came to despise him afterward.

It was the very reason that he’d come to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Greystone, who he knew had returned from their wedding trip several days prior to his arrival.

“Jim!”

Standing in the elaborate entry hallway, Swindler turned at the calling of his name and looked up the grand sweeping staircase that Frannie was descending. He’d expected this moment of seeing her for the first time after her marriage to Greystone to be awkward, for his heart to give the little pull it always did when his gaze lit upon her, knowing she would never be his.

But his heart didn’t begin to ache for wanting, his chest didn’t tighten. He had none of the usual reactions that often accompanied him when he was in her presence. He felt gladness at seeing her, but nothing more. No longing, no yearning, no desire for anything beyond friendship.

She looked as she always did: beautifully elegant, with her vibrant red hair pinned up and her face aglow with joy. Her dress, however, was finer than anything she’d worn when she worked as a bookkeeper at Dodger’s gentlemen’s club. Her green dress was silk and lace, befitting a duchess.

Her husband followed closely behind her. He was fair, well-turned-out. His mantle was his title. He could have been wearing nothing at all and he still would have commanded respect, still would have drawn attention when he strode into a room.

Coming to a stop before Swindler, Frannie took his large hands in her delicate ones and squeezed tightly. Having been brutalized as a child, she’d always been extremely reserved with her hugs, so he hadn’t expected one in welcome. What surprised him was that neither did he desire one. It seemed when he thought of a woman holding him, the only image that came to mind was that of Eleanor.

“Your Grace,” he said to her, then nodded at Greystone.

“Oh, Jim, please, I’m still Frannie. Don’t be formal with me. I’ll take it as an insult.”

“You’re a duchess now.”

“I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

He could see in the green depths of her eyes how important his answer was. “Yes, of course you are.”

She smiled happily at him. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You’re looking well.”

He’d have thought it impossible but her smile grew. “The South of France was wonderful. Sterling and I had a marvelous time.”

Even knowing that marvelous time would have included lovemaking, Swindler felt no jealousy. He felt nothing except gladness that Frannie was so obviously happy.

“We’ve been home for a couple of days now,” Frannie said. “I was afraid…I’m glad you came by to visit. Shall we go into the parlor?”

She didn’t wait for an answer but stole her arm around his and led the way.

“What can I offer you to drink, Swindler?” Greystone asked as he walked to a table with decanters.

“Nothing, thank you. I fear this isn’t exactly a social call.”

“Scotland Yard sent you here?” Frannie asked as she sat on the settee.

Swindler dropped into a chair opposite her while Greystone took his place beside her. “Not intentionally, no. But I’m in need of a bit of assistance with a case I’m working.”

“What sort of assistance?” Frannie asked.

“I understand you’re having a ball tomorrow night.”

“Yes, Sterling thought it essential for the new Duchess of Greystone to host a party as soon as we returned from our wedding trip. Catherine’s been handling the particulars.”

“I would like you to invite Miss Eleanor Watkins. Her father was a viscount, so it wouldn’t be inappropriate for her to attend.”

“Good Lord, Jim, she could be a washerwoman, and if you have an interest in her, I would invite her. I suppose I’m to invite you as well.”

“Yes, if you don’t mind. She may also need a gown.”

“She’s not here for the Season?”

“No, I believe she’s here for revenge.”

“Revenge sounds like something that will put my wife in harm’s way,” Greystone said. “If that’s the case, then we can’t be of help.”

“Sterling-”

“I almost lost you once, Frannie. I’ll not risk it again.”

With amusement, Swindler watched the silent battle of wills. Apparently the duke had yet to discover that his duchess possessed a very stubborn streak.

She finally turned her attention to Swindler. “Tell me about the lady.”

Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, digging his elbows into his thighs. He explained how she’d come to his attention. “She quite simply fascinates me, but I’ve never told her my true purpose, what it is I intend to gain from her. Sometimes I feel as though I’m back under Feagan’s employ, working so bloody hard to fleece someone without him knowing.”

“You’re doing your job.”

“That’s just it, Frannie. I’m not, not really. I’m simply enjoying her company. I’d hoped in time that she’d come to trust me, confide in me, tell me of her plans regarding Rockberry. But she avoids discussing him at every turn. The time has come for me to bring this matter to a close. I must confront her, and when I do, whatever tender regard she might have toward me is certain to sour. I would like to give her this night at your ball, a gift as it were, before she discovers that I’ve been deceiving her.”

Frannie placed her hand over his. “Have you been deceiving her, Jim?”

“I’m no longer sure. I’ve come to care for her, but I must tell her the truth about what I know and what I need to know. I fear she won’t be pleased to learn the truth.”

Rockberry had taken advantage of her sister. She was likely to think Swindler had done the same. He was dreading the confrontation and was hoping one final night of happiness would soften the blow he would deliver.

“Miss Watkins! Miss Watkins!”

The resounding knock nearly rattled the door to her rooms off its hinges. Eleanor crossed over as quickly as possible and flung it open. “Yes, Mrs. Potter?”

The woman was breathing heavily, her face flushed with excitement. “You have a caller. The Duchess of Greystone herself. My word.” She pressed her hand to her heaving bosom. “Nobility in my parlor. I never imagined…What tea should I prepare, do you think? Oh, it doesn’t matter. I shall prepare every flavor I have. I do wish I had cake. Biscuits seem so trite. Hurry. You mustn’t keep Her Grace waiting.”

As her landlady scurried down the hallway toward the stairs, Eleanor followed at a more sedate pace, her stomach quivering with nervousness. Why ever had the duchess come to call?

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she’d regained control of her breathing and calmed the tremors that had been dancing through her. She entered the parlor and the duchess rose gracefully from the chair. A young lady, obviously a servant, also came to her feet.

The duchess smiled softly. “Miss Watkins.”

Eleanor curtsied. “Your Grace.”

She didn’t know what to say beyond that. Should she be forthright and ask why she’d come to call or should she simply wait? Had Elisabeth suffered through these moments of insecurity, of not knowing the exact behavior that was expected? Was that how Rockberry had managed to lure her into hell? Eleanor fought not to show the anger she felt with her father at the thought. If only he’d brought them to London on occasion, if only he’d exposed them to more of the world, Elisabeth might still be alive, they might all be happier. She herself might have had an opportunity to be properly courted as well.

“I must apologize for arriving at an inappropriate hour, but I feared if I waited until afternoon, I wouldn’t have enough time to accomplish all I wish to. I’ve come to beg a favor of you,” the duchess said.

“I’m not certain how I could be of service.”

Unexpectedly, the duchess stepped forward and took Eleanor’s hands. “I’m a dear friend of James Swindler. I believe he’s mentioned me. We grew up on the streets together. I know he’s been calling on you. I’m holding a ball this evening. I’ve invited Mr. Swindler. I was hoping you’d do me the honor of attending as well.”

To attend a ball, a duchess’s ball at that. Eleanor hardly knew what to say, other than the truth. “I fear I have nothing to wear.”

“I thought that might be the case. Jim mentioned that you had no sponsor and weren’t making the rounds. He also described you to me-quite accurately, if I may say-so I took the liberty of selecting one of my gowns that I think would look lovely with your complexion. You’re a bit smaller than I am, but Agnes here, my lady’s maid, is quite skilled with a needle. She could make alterations.”

“Oh.” Once again she hardly knew what to say. It was only then that she noticed the large long box resting on the sofa.

The duchess squeezed Eleanor’s hands, which she’d yet to relinquish. “I hope you’ll forgive me. I may be playing a bit of matchmaker. Jim has never spoken to me about another lady, so I know you must be very special indeed.”

Eleanor’s stomach tightened into a painful knot. This was what she’d wanted, but now that the moment was here…

The duchess seemed to sense her hesitation. “Why don’t we have a look at this gown, shall we? If it doesn’t please you, we can select another.”

How could it not please her? Eleanor thought as Agnes pulled it out of the box and held up the white gown edged in pink satin with tiny satin flowers adorning the skirt. “It takes my breath it’s so lovely.”

“I thought you might like it,” the duchess said.

“I hardly know what to say.”

“Say you’ll attend.”

Eleanor couldn’t stop her triumphant smile. “I’ll attend.”

Mrs. Potter joined them several minutes later with tea-and cakes. While it was not her usual habit to impose when her tenants had guests, she seemed unable to get beyond the notion that she had a duchess sitting in her parlor, sipping tea, nibbling on a cake, and chatting as though they were all familiar friends. The duchess had such an unassuming manner that Eleanor had little doubt she charmed anyone she encountered. For someone not born into the aristocracy, the duchess had adapted very well to her elevated position in society. Eleanor was left to wonder if she might have adapted as well if she, instead of Elisabeth, had been the one her father had chosen to send to London first. Or would she have been as naive as Elisabeth and followed her footsteps toward disaster?

“I’ve enjoyed the visit so much,” the duchess finally said, “but I fear I must be off. I’ll leave Agnes with you, so she can alter the gown as needed.” She rose and everyone came to their feet as well. “I’m leaving a carriage for Agnes and shall send one ‘round for you at half past eight, if that pleases you.”

“It pleases me very much,” Eleanor said.

Once again the duchess took her hands. “I think it shall please Jim as well.”

After the duchess left, Eleanor and Agnes retired to Eleanor’s rooms. The gown required very few alterations, but the duchess had been correct. Agnes was deft with the needle. A couple of hours later, when the work was finished, Eleanor stood in front of the cheval glass, admiring her reflection. The sleeveless gown’s low cut revealed an enticing bit of cleavage. The duchess had provided long gloves that went past Eleanor’s elbows, and pearled pink slippers.

“I could prepare your hair before I leave,” Agnes offered.

Eleanor shook her head. “No, thank you. I shall probably take a short nap before I begin final preparations. These affairs usually go late into the night, don’t they?”

“I know the ones Lady Catherine gave lasted well past midnight. She’s been helping Her Grace with the arrangements so I suspect this one shall as well.”

Eleanor smiled at herself in the mirror. She wondered if Lord Rockberry had been invited. If she had her way, tonight would be the night that he got his comeuppance.