*
Terror, exhilaration, andguilt struck Ottilie in rapid succession as Henry strode into Jack’s foyer and announced the completion of his poetry collection. She stifled a cheer and clapped silently upon hearing the pride in her cousin’s voice, aching to rejoice with him. But reality rooted her to the spot and weighed her down with a crushing guilt. She clamped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut as if that could shield her from her inner shame.
She remained frozen at the top of the stairs long after the men moved into the parlor, straining to hear their muffled voices. How long did Henry plan to stay? Would he remain until morning and then seek her out at Berkley Square to share his news? What would she do? Pretend not to know about his triumph? How could she face him? She hated the idea of lying to him.
The muffled voices grew louder, and Ottilie straightened, listening intently. Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
“I knew you were fibbing.” Henry’s voice rang clearly in Ottilie’s ears. “Why didn’t you tell me to leave? I would not have taken offense.”
“Don’t go yet, Lord Hudsyn,” a woman’s voice pleaded. “You’ve just arrived. I wish you would come back and join us in the parlor.”
Ottilie held her breath.
Who is that? Not Mrs. Wilson. She has the night off, and she certainly would not speak to her master or his guests in such a casual manner. But who else is in the house?
Ottilie’s mind scrambled for an explanation but found none. She placed her clothing on the floor and crept down the stairs. It was a risk she had to take. She jerked to a halt when the petite figure of a naked young woman came into view. Ottilie swallowed her gasp. Gripping the banister, she leaned forward and peeped between the decorative swirls in the iron railing.
Jack’s arm hung casually around the woman’s waist and came to a rest low on her hip. A river of silky black hair flowed down the woman’s back, and she purred like a satisfied kitten as she nuzzled Jack’s neck, pressing her pale body and smooth round breasts against his bare chest.
Ottilie’s cheeks flamed, and she tightened her grip on the banister. Jack glanced up and met her furious stare. Then he creased his forehead in question as if to ask,what are you doing?
He nudged the woman from his side. “That’s enough, Lulu!” he barked. “Lord Hudsyn is a busy man and has things to do. Go and get yourself dressed.”
The woman—Lulu—Jack had called her—stuck out her bottom lip like a petulant child. Jack glanced at Ottilie, and his frown deepened. She narrowed her eyes at him before retreating up the stairs, her mind a whirling and furious Charybdis.
Lulu! So that is the new housekeeper Brandt hired—the one Jack knew nothing about? Liar! What a little fool I have been.
Ottilie picked up her clothing and pressed them to her chest. What had she done? She’d fallen asleep next to Jack wearing nothing but her chemise and allowed him free access to her body like a common harlot. She clenched her fists around the fabric of her dress. How much touching had occurred? Had he done more than kiss her or caress her? Her memory remained a blur. No doubt the beer had served to muddle her thoughts. Perhaps Jack had given it to her for that very purpose. How could she have allowed something like this to happen? If Henry ever discovered her folly—the thought sent her to her knees. She doubled over on the floor and crouched under the weight of her shame.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Ottilie’s head jerked up. Was it Jack? No, the step was too light. It had to be Lulu. Ottilie stood, grabbed the paraffin lamp, and dashed toward Jack’s study.Wait! He’d said to go to his chambers.She swung around, her mind a whirl of anxiety and confusion, and came face to face with Lulu who stood stark naked and unabashed before her.
Ottilie recoiled.
The naked housemaid placed her hands on her slender hips and assessed Ottilie with a quick sweep of her eyes. “You are pretty, to be sure, but I think you are the frigid type.” She smirked. “He doesn’t like frigid women. You’ll be gone soon enough.” Lulu twirled on her heels and sauntered across the landing, swaying her derriere as if proud to display such a fine asset. She stopped and turned to give Ottilie a sardonic smile before disappearing into one of the bedchambers.
Ottilie blinked, too stunned to move.
Had the harlot gone into Jack’s bedchamber? She didn’t know. But she assumed as much since housekeepers did not sleep on the same floor as their master—unless it was in that master’s bed. Ottilie spun around and marched in the opposite direction to Jack’s study, anger swirling in her chest. Did Jack employ courtesans and disguise them as housekeepers for his pleasure? Apparently, Henry thought it perfectly normal to see a disrobed strumpet hanging on Jack’s arm or strutting freely about his house.
She pushed open the study door and slammed it shut. No matter if Henry heard the commotion, he’d think it was Lulu. How dare Jack ask her to wait in his chambers like one of his harlots? She dropped her clothing at her feet and leaned against the door, clutching the paraffin lamp by its wire handle and dangling it in front of her to better see the room. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She only had herself to blame. She knew what Jack Bastin was, and she’d been foolish to ignore the reality.
Downstairs, she heard the front door open and close. Ottilie lifted the paraffin lamp and moved quickly to the window. Taking care to conceal herself behind the curtain, she peered down at the shadowy street. The gas lamps gave off a dim light, but it was enough to see Henry step outside and turn left toward Piccadilly. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was not intent on going home and would not discover her absence.
An overwhelming sense of despair soon overshadowed her relief. An only child like herself, Henry had been overjoyed to learn he had a cousin, and they’d formed a close bond in the last two years. And now she had betrayed him, and her betrayal might even cost him his friendship with Jack.
Ottilie wiped her tears. It was time for her to dress and leave this house. She reached for her front-fastening corset and was about to slip it over her chemise when the door opened, and Jack entered.
“I told you to wait in my chamber,” he said.
“Did you?” Ottilie bit back. “I think you’ll find that it’s already occupied.”
“What do you mean by that?” Jack asked.
“I mean, I saw your naked harlot enter your bedchamber minutes ago.”
“I see.” Jack slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and smiled.
Heat spread like a wildfire across Ottilie’s chest and neck. “Did you expect me to join her and become part of your harem? In that case, I am sorry to disappoint you.”
