Page 19 of The Luckiest Lady in London

Three, there must be a way for her to play this game. Except she did not yet know how. She had heard his initial offer. Could she bargain for two houses? Or two thousand pounds a year?

And more importantly, did she want to? He asked for only four weeks a year, but she was not so naive as to believe that should they become lovers, thoughts of him would not dominate her waking hours the rest of the year. Was a house and a thousand-pound annuity—or even double that—enough compensation for being in thrall to him for as far as she could see into the future?

Don’t forget the jealousy that is certain to come, added a voice inside her head. You don’t suppose he would remain celibate the other eleven months, do you? He will enjoy affairs upon affairs. Not to mention, one of these days he will marry.

At the thought of the future Lady Wrenworth, a strange numbness spread in her chest. She could so easily imagine an accidental meeting of the three of them, which would of course take place well after he had tired of her. With an amused smile he would present his former plaything to his lady wife, who would be young, fresh, and beautiful, while Louisa would be approaching middle age, the very picture of dowdiness.

“And have I mentioned that I am a competent and considerate lover?” said the present-day Lord Wrenworth, dangling yet another lure before her.

“I do not doubt that,” she answered. “In fact…”

Her voice trailed off.

“In fact what?” he prompted her.

She had very nearly mentioned those erotic thoughts that besieged her nightly. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a huge blunder. But were there such things as normal circumstances left, when Lord Wrenworth was involved?

“In fact”—she pushed on before she could stop herself again—“I lie awake at night, imagining you watching me in the darkness. And when I finally fall asleep, I dream that I am naked before you, unable to stop you from…many liberties.”

This time it was he who stopped in his tracks, though he did not need any reminder from her to resume moving. “Miss Cantwell, are you trying to arouse me?”

Her heart had been beating fast for a while, but now blood roared in her ears. “I only speak the truth. I quite despise myself for these desires that run amok. But run amok they do. I daresay for the rest of my life I will dream of being fondled by you.”

His eyes darkened; his hand tightened on the top of his walking stick. Her innards shook. With nerves, yes, but also with something that was almost exhilaration.

This was how she played the game.

“What do you have against making your dreams come true?”

“My entire upbringing, needless to say. But there is also something else, something that you, with your vast wealth, cannot possibly understand.”

“Do please shed some light on the matter.”

“We are poor, you see. Not indigent, as my mother still employs a cookmaid and has one-third share of a gardener—so we get by. But getting by means not buying much of anything beyond food, tea, and coal.

“There is a shop in Cirencester that had a telescope in its shop window. Every month for ten years, I stopped before the window to admire the telescope. I wanted that telescope more than I had ever wanted anything else in my life—I dreamed of it by night and I schemed for it by day.

“The telescope had been put there on consignment. The shopkeeper secretly revealed to me the lowest price he was allowed to accept for the instrument. But I couldn’t afford it—any spare penny we had went into an emergency cache for Matilda. Then one day the telescope was gone. It had been bought by a gentleman for his ten-year-old son, for the original owner’s full asking price.”

Belatedly she noticed that they had both come to a stop. He watched her, his gaze unwavering.

“And?” he prompted.

“And nothing. I carried on. I was so accustomed to not having it that my life changed not at all. And so it will be with you. No matter how much I might want you, I will manage to endure it. And I will carry on as if nothing is the matter.”

Melodramatic. But it was good melodrama, if she said so herself. He certainly seemed riveted.

She began walking again—they were beginning to attract attention from the blindman’s buffers, standing there like that. A few steps later, he caught up with her.

“Why did you want the telescope?”

It was not the comment she had been expecting—not that she knew anymore what to expect from him. “That is of no relevance to the discussion at hand.”

“I’d like to know.”

“I will tell you when we are in bed together, but not before.” She flushed with the image that brought to mind.

“And we will be in bed together only after I have pledged my name and protection before a man of God.”