“True, but—”
“You’ve also had dinner with a gentleman without benefit of chaperone.”
He had her there, but still she felt a need to argue. “I was not having dinner with a gentleman. He was merely making use of the chair at my table.”
He flashed a grin, so devastatingly perfect that she would be content to spend the rest of her life saying things that would bring forth that smile. “Semantics.”
“I would further argue that Becky, nay the entire staff, served to chaperone that dinner.”
“I’ll give you that. I felt their eyes on me the entire night.” He took a step toward her. “How’s this, then? You are going to the penny gaff alone. I, however, have decided I’m in the mood for some entertainment this evening and am going as well. Not with you, of course. But as we’re heading in the same direction, I daresay space will be available on the seat in your cab, so where is the harm in our sharing the ride?”
There was harm aplenty within the small confines of the hansom cab, he realized when her thigh was pressed up against his, when the rocking motion of the conveyance occasionally caused the side of her breast to rub up against his arm. She seemed unaware of the touch whereas his body reacted as though she’d climbed into his lap.
Leaving her shop earlier, he’d felt rather like an arse for not accommodating her request, even as he justified his reasons for avoiding her. Then on his way to the pub, he’d been taken aback by the joy that had spiraled through him when he’d rounded the corner and caught sight of her in a modest deep buttery shaded frock with a square neckline that revealed the hollow at the base of her throat and an inch or so of skin below it. He’d been dazzled and unable not to think about dipping his tongue in that provocative spot in the center of her collarbone. Which was no doubt the reason he’d been so damned reluctant to part ways and was now accompanying her on her adventure. Lust was once again driving him to make stupid decisions, and yet he couldn’t seem to find it within himself to regret the choice he’d made.
She’d instructed the driver to take them to the Devil’s Door. He wasn’t familiar with that particular establishment but was rather confident as to what he would find there since he’d visited other gaffs in his youth when he and his friends had been in the mood for ribald entertainment. “How did you even hear of this place?”
“When I was twelve or so, a lad who lived near us invited me to go with him. I asked Gillie what I should wear”—she slid her gaze over to him—“and that put an end to that. She explained that it wasn’t the sort of place a proper lady would ever frequent. But I’ve thought about it over the years and decided before I truly become proper, I should have a night of being improper. So here we are.”
“What became of the lad?” He wondered if she’d loved him, retained a tender spot for him in her heart.
“Six months later, he married another lass who lived in the area.”
“Good Lord! How old was he when he asked you to go with him?” He suspected it was more the fellow’s age than where he was taking her that has resulted in her sister squashing things.
“Fifteen. They marry young in the rookeries. His bride was all of fourteen, although I doubt she was actually ever a bride. I suspect they had no ceremony. They might not have even had a license. Often couples simply move in together, declare themselves married, and who is to know different? My siblings will pay for the license of any of their employees who wish to marry. As you can well imagine, they are keen to ensure the children are legitimate.”
“Was it difficult growing up not being so?” He abhorred the thought of her being made to feel less.
“My family made it not matter. Still I was aware that it did. My children will be legitimate, and that’s important to me. As will be their father, a right and proper lord, who can trace his lineage back generations. The wonder of that, to know who came before him.”
He’d always taken it for granted, had actually seen it as a burden, not only to live up to his parents’ expectations, but to the expectations of those long dead.
“Anyway, that’s how I know about this particular theater. Have you ever been to a gaff?”
“I have.”
“Did you enjoy the shows you saw?”
“To be honest, I can barely recall them. But if you enjoy the din in the pub, the rowdiness of a penny gaff should absolutely delight you.”
Her profile was to him, but he saw the slow upward curl of her mouth. Would any lord be able to resist that innocent yet seductive movement? Could he?
“I’m counting on it.”
“If I may be honest, I’m a bit surprised your family doesn’t keep a closer watch over you. Young, unmarried, living alone.”
“They don’t imagine me misbehaving, doing what I ought not because I was ever so good while I was growing up, never got into trouble. I also think they believe having Mick living across the street, able to drop in on me at any time, serves as a deterrent to misguided actions.” That slow upward curl again. “But he is very much preoccupied with his wife. He’s mad about her, you know.”
“I assume you’re hoping for the same level of devotion.”
“It would please me immensely to be so adored, but I am realistic enough to know my dowry will no doubt play a large role in determining my future. I’m trying very hard not to feel as though I’m being sold off.”
He’d never thought of it in those precise terms. “Women have come with dowries for centuries. It’s not an insult to have one.”
“I know. I’m very fortunate. I simply hope it’s not the only thing he likes about me.”
He wanted to remove his gloves and skim his fingers over her cheek in reassurance. Instead he kept them balled into a fist on his thigh. If he had not left Society, would he have met her at a ball? Would he be as intrigued? Would he willingly walk into a trap to have her?
