She rubbed her eyes and spied a jar of salve on her bedside table. No apparition. He’d been as real as her thoughts, and every bit as wanton.
“Lizzie!” Annabelle cried from the foyer, no doubt announcing today’s bouquet.
Elizabeth grabbed her spectacles and wrapped her banyan about her. Sure enough, a vase of wild, pink hedge roses, thorns intact, greeted her downstairs. Pleasure and pain. How apt.
My dear Elizabeth, it is time you met the remainder of my family. Dress your best and await me downstairs at a quarter to noon. We will take luncheon with my mother. I expect you not to disappoint. —Milton
Post Script: You may inform your father our wedding will take place tomorrow morning at ten o’clock sharp in the church of St. Mary le Strand. I have taken the liberty ofinviting your neighbors, the Lady Stanton, Mrs. R. and M., as well as Sir Wigglebottom.
Elizabeth’s insides chafed.Why, that scoundrel!To invite Lady Stanton and her cronies, inviting even her blasted pug was?—
“Lizzie?” Annabelle interrupted. “What does he write this time, sister?”
Elizabeth steadied herself. “You are invited to my wedding, Bella, you and Papa, tomorrow at ten. And today I am to call on the Baron’s mother.”
“Well, it seems only right you meet your mother-in-law before you wed.”
You mean my whore of a mother-in-law?Elizabeth nearly spoke the words aloud, stopping herself just in time.
Instead, her eyes met Annabelle’s. “Yes, I imagine it is time I met the woman who made the Baron who and what he is.”
At precisely quarter to noon, Milton stood upon a threshold noticeably absent of floral debris, bolstering hope his betrothed had come round at last. Moments later, Miss Winthrop greeted him politely, dressed suitably in a spencer and bonnet.
“I trust you slept well, miss?” he asked as he led her to his carriage.
“Very well, thank you,” she answered primly, though her cheeks blushed as pink as his roses.
He’d pleasured her only enough to get her thinking last night, although he’d wished to ravish her completely. But Elizabeth deserved a virgin’s wedding night. He could play the devotedsuitor for one more day and be the sort of bridegroom expected by a fair maiden of theTon.
Milton would never truly be that man, because he didn’t want to be him. He did, however, want the kind of power men of society held. Wealth had bought him much, but only influence could buy him everything.
And he deserved no less.
With an eye to his mother, Milton surveyed his bride-to-be. Miss Winthrop’s silver-rimmed spectacles matched her ensemble nicely. She’d folded her gloved hands neatly in her lap and looked the very picture of gentility. Though she did not look at him, at all.
He did not push his betrothed to speak, choosing instead to maintain restraint. He was curious to see how she’d react to his mum on this, Elizabeth’s final day of tests.
After all, Miss Winthrop remained a means to an end—one he’d worked so long and so hard to achieve he wasn’t quite sure what he felt now that end was in reach. Relief? Excitement? Dread? It was no simple feat to forge a dynasty out of nothing. But he would, with Miss Winthrop at his side.
He peered out the window and saw they had arrived.
“Your mother liveshere?” she exclaimed, alighting from his carriage to stare up at the nondescript, brick townhouse situated on a perfectly respectable London street.
“Lives andworkshere,” he corrected.
“Works?”
“This is Miss Li’s house of ill repute, Elizabeth.”
“But—”
“My mother runs Li’s whorehouse the way a housekeeper runs an estate. Only one does not refer to her as a housekeeper. One refers to her as houseMadam. Madam Audrey, to be exact.”
Elizabeth paled.
“I can assure you, Miss Winthrop, little occurs here during the luncheon hour, as most whores remain abed still, asleep. You may encounter a few straggling guests, but I doubt very much you will be exposed to anything more salacious than my mother herself.”
She stiffened on his arm, as if she balked.
