“Whose heart have you captured this time?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I’m going to find out anyway, so you may as well tell me.”
Della wasn’t quite sure how her sister managed to seduce anyone—gangly, charmless hoyden that she was—but somehow she always seemed to be in pursuit of one debutant or another. Many of her dalliances were entirely one-sided and ended with nothing to show for her efforts, the object of her affection proving unable or unwilling to entertain that sort of connection with another lady. But every now and again she succeeded in winning one of them over and would spend weeks or months doing adorable, ridiculous things such as writing her paramour a dozen sonnets or sending her coded messages through flowers, until eventually the flame burned out or someone’s parents grew too suspicious.
Annabelle rolled her eyes, but accepted the inevitable. “Eliza Greenwood. But I haven’t captured her heart yet. That’s what this outing is for.”
“Oooh, a worthy challenge.” Miss Greenwood was uncommonly pretty, recently out, and highly sought after this season. In truth, Annabelle probably didn’t have much of a chance with her. As far as Della knew, Miss Greenwood seemed as interested in the gentlemen who filled her dance card as any other young lady. No wonder Annabelle wanted her help. An invitation to Bishop’s would lend her a certain cachet she sorely needed.
It almost made Della wish she hadn’t invited Lord Ashton to sneak into her bedroom tomorrow evening.
“I’m afraid I won’t get to see how it turns out for you, as I have another engagement.” She would call on Eli and Jane in the morning to make sure they could manage Bishop’s without her. She didn’t often ask for a night off, but it would be the first time in months, and the chance to seduce Lord Ashton was too good to pass up. “So whatever you do, don’t make a mess you can’t clean up on your own.”
“You think I needyourhelp?” Annabelle looked so offended, Della might almost have believed the emotion was justified. “You’d only embarrass me. That’s why I’m bringing Miss Greenwood when you’re not there.”
Wait.
“Beg pardon?” Della wondered if it was too late to rescind her invitation. “How did you know I’d be seeing the viscount tomorrow? Were you eavesdropping on me?” The insufferable snoop! She’d probably cracked a window open the second she’d got in the house.
“Not at all.” Annabelle laughed, pouncing to her feet and making for the exit. “It was an easy guess, and you just confirmed it.”
She slammed the door just before Della flung her slipper.
***
Lyman walked back to Pimlico from Miss Danby’s doorstep. The brisk night air would do him good. Besides which, he couldn’t justify the cost of another carriage ride when he was perfectly capable of walking. It wasn’t that those few coins would make any difference in the grand scheme of things; it was the principle of it. How could he permit himself unnecessary luxuries when he should be sending every penny toward Michael and Ellen?
Tonight was a luxury, but that didn’t stop you from wasting your evening at the invitation of Miss Danby.
Della.
Lyman walked a bit quicker, the clack of his shoes on the cobblestones echoing back at him as if he were being pursued. His heart was still pounding at the thrill of what she’d given him so freely. It had been ages since he’d gone out for an evening. Far longer since he’d had a woman in his arms. The last one had been Mrs. Chatham, a widow several years his elder. She hadn’t expected too much from Lyman. Not love, certainly, nor a second marriage. She’d known about his situation before they began their dalliance. He suspected she suffered more from boredom than from loneliness and had judged him just scandalous enough to provide a spark of excitement to her evenings. He wasn’t sure if he’d lived up to her expectations of a rakehell, but she’d liked what he did with his hands, at any rate.
Della had liked it too.
But Della wasn’t a widow, in a position to risk a discreet liaison. What did she expect of him? Lyman would feel better about this if she were a bit older and less full of that thoughtless enthusiasm that made her throw herself into every idea that caught her fancy. Her gambling club, this ladies’ guidebook, and now him. Had she really thought about the consequences of any of it?
I’m not ignorant of the dangers of anything I do, my lord, she’d declared a few hours ago.But I won’t live in fear.
It had the appearance of bravery, but Lyman wasn’t persuaded she truly understood. Anyone couldbelievethey were prepared to risk everything. Until you lost what was dearest to you, you didn’t know how you would bear it.
Lyman wished he could shut out the fears that tarnished his evening. Why should he feel guilty if he did want to see her again? Was that so terrible? They weren’t hurting anyone, and he’d been honestwith her from the start about the fact that he wasn’t free to remarry. Whatever this was, it wouldn’t last. A month or two, perhaps, until she finished her book and they parted ways. Any connection between them promised to be so insignificant that Lyman shouldn’t have minded what happened.
But he did mind. He could still feel the silk of her skin beneath his hands and the citrus scent of her in his lungs. Could still hear the sounds she’d made when he brought her to climax. That unchecked cry of pure bliss that had wrapped itself around his whole being. She’d ensnared him completely.
When he reached the Hirsches’ house and let himself into the second-floor apartments that were reserved for the boarders, he found Clarkson still awake and at the table in the common dining room. He was reading a heavy, leather-bound volume by the light of a cheap tallow candle that leaked an acrid plume of smoke into the air.
“Good evening,” his friend greeted him. “You’re up late.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“Mr. Hirsch has me searching for a precedent in a particularly tricky case.” If Clarkson was tired, he didn’t show it. He slipped a bookmark into his text and closed it with a heavy thud. “Did your friend enjoy her clandestine view of Laurent’s?”
Lyman wouldn’t risk Miss Danby’s reputation by telling anyone else what she’d been up to, but he’d trusted Clarkson well enough to confide the general situation without revealing her name. He wasn’t the sort to pry or gossip, unlike Mr. Wood. But Wood’s door was shut and there was no sound from within, so he must be asleep already. Lyman was careful to keep his voice down. If their conversation disturbed the other lodger’s rest, they would never hear the end of it.
“She did.” Lyman hesitated, unsure of what he wanted to say next. Finally he added, “Something happened tonight.”
