The King of Threadneedle Street (12 page)

But that wasn’t mortifying. Alysia resisted the urge to cover herself with her fan. She didn’t want him to see the pleated silver bodice in translucent gossamer, wasp-waist corset and low Parisian
décolleté
. Wisps of gossamer—a poor excuse for sleeves—sat low on her arms, exposing her shoulders and half her back. The cosmetics, the exotic perfume, her hair coiffed in
semi-dishabille
topped with jeweled combs…

She must truly look a harlot to him. Did he think so? He was certainly staring.

Ignoring the protests of her so-called admirers, he led her to the dance floor just in time for the next waltz, oblivious to her wooden movements. He pulled their dance position completely closed. Pressed against him from shoulder to knee — oh, the shock! His thighs rubbed hers, leading the steps as he had over a year before at his sister’s wedding. It seemed ages ago.

Constrained in the corset, she couldn’t draw a clear breath. If the dizziness grew worse, she would faint in his arms. At least his shoulder blocked her view of the room. Alysia had no desire to survey all the curious and accusing glares she knew were aimed at her.

Oh, why did Andrew have to appear this evening? She felt like an opium addict locked in a closet saturated with the scent, smoke, and juice. Tentatively his fingers moved over the exposed skin of her back, across her shoulders, blazing a sensation strangely like fire and ice together. His head turned a little and rested against hers. He hummed softly in her ear as though it was perfectly ordinary that they should be waltzing at a ball in Paris on a random autumn evening.

It seemed pointless to say,
Hello, Drew. What on earth are you doing here?

What she feared would sprout from her mouth:
I have missed you every day, all four hundred forty-nine of them.
But there was also,
Your father will have my head for this!

Instead she said nothing.

Alysia silently reacquainted herself with Andrew; the way her head fit in the hollow of his shoulder, the rhythm of his breath, and the soothing heat of his hands. She matched his movements, letting him guide the dance with the pressure of his legs on hers and the firm messages sent through his hands. At home she had grown accustomed to his familiar scent of balsam, leather, clean starch, and the natural musk of his skin, but stripped of immunity she now drank it in greedily.

The stray thought came to her that she was nineteen now, and his twenty-and-second birthday had passed only a week earlier on November the fifth. “Happy birthday, Drew.” She hadn’t meant to sound dejected.

“Hmm?”

“Your birthday.”

“Oh, hmm.”

Apparently he wasn’t feeling chatty. It discomfited her, being held so closely, a sensory overload she was ill-equipped to handle.

“Did you like the present I sent for your birthday?” he finally said. “It was a little late.”

“My mother’s amethysts?”
Of course. Whom else?
“I should have known. Yes, Drew, I was beside myself with joy. I can’t imagine how you did it, but thank you.” She turned her head to give him a swift kiss on the neck since she couldn’t reach anything higher at the moment.

“Hmm,” he sighed at the touch of her lips. Perhaps he was as undone as she. He slid his fingers between hers, their hands still outstretched in dance position.

She closed her eyes against the thrill.
Heaven help me
.

In a few minutes the waltz would be over and she would have to gather her wits. However welcome a sight, Andrew shouldn’t be there. And now that Alysia knew she was possibly being sold to one of the revolting men here like a common slave, she would have to decide what to do about it, and quickly. She had promised Lord Courtenay she wouldn’t pursue Lord Preston. Before he had understood she meant to comply, the marquess had threatened to use his influence to blacklist her or complicate her inheritance if she rescinded. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but his meaning was quite clear.

“Are you aware of your dangerous situation this evening, Lisa?”

She startled then resigned herself to being the last to know her own business. “I was warned of it only moments ago by a friend.”

“Then you know you must part company with Madame Desmarais?”

“Yes…”
But how?

“Then I suggest you take Lady Chauncey’s offer to stay with her for a while.”

“But she has made no such offer, Drew.”

He twirled her across the floor to the southeast corner where Lady Chauncey sat. It only took a moment for her to look up and see them. She nodded in response to Lord Preston’s expectant gaze then lifted a crimson satin fan with her right hand to cover her face, meaning,
Come with me.
She ran a finger through the ribbing,
I must speak with you.

“She has now. I hope you have the good sense to accept.”

“I…” She hesitated, feeling run over.

“Accept,” he commanded. “Unless you prefer becoming Paris’ favorite tart.” He pushed her away and raked his eyes accusingly over every inch of her from head to toe. Alysia felt herself heat.

“Of course I accept,” she snapped. “Lady Chauncey is most kind.” Alysia turned to catch Lady Chauncey’s eye once more and acknowledged her acceptance by resting her fan on her right cheek to mean
Yes
. Lady Chauncey clasped her hands and smiled knowingly at another lady at her side, whom Alysia recognized as the regal and stylish Lady Lambrick
.

Alysia also spied Mme. Desmarais, watching her and Lord Preston with eager satisfaction. She would imagine that Alysia had quickly snared herself the top prize. Alysia could only imagine her mentor’s disappointment when she learned otherwise.

Andrew saw her glance toward Mme. Desmarais. “Vile woman. I didn’t believe she was actually collecting bids until I saw for myself.”

“What?”

“Over 250,000 francs, last I heard.” Alysia scoffed, but he paid her no heed. “Hmm, that would be, roughly ten thousand pounds.”

“Outrageous!”

“Yes, I know. That is why I bid twenty. I don’t like competition, when I have my heart set on the prize.”

Alysia pulled back and sputtered, “What? How? You—you
bought
me?”

Andrew nodded with a smile across the room to Mme. Desmarais, who rested her fan on her right cheek:
Yes.
She beamed in satisfaction, and Alysia couldn’t believe it. It was true, then. Andrew bowed at the end of the waltz and led her to the front of the room.

“That is…” Andrew signaled to a brute-sized footman waiting against a wall. “She
thinks
that is the case.” The footman approached Mme. Desmarais. Lady Chauncey rose and came toward Alysia. “But only for twenty seconds longer.”

He wore a little smirk while Mme. Desmarais read the note Andrew’s footman delivered. Lady Chauncey cooed a greeting as she took Alysia’s other arm. Mme. Desmarais looked up in horror at Lord Preston, her mouth agape.

Andrew shot her a jaunty salute as he strode past the entrance and out through the doors with Alysia and Lady Chauncey.

Alysia could scarcely believe what had just taken place.

“You need not concern yourself with Madame Desmarais,” Andrew said cheerfully. “Robert will fetch your things and bring them to Lady Chauncey’s house this evening.” Andrew didn’t wait half a minute for his carriage to be brought to the front doors. He handed the ladies inside and sat next to Alysia on the bench. Lady Chauncey didn’t even bat an eye at the impropriety.

“Andrew, what happened just now?”

“A rescue, of sorts.”

Alysia glanced between Andrew and Lady Chauncey, both looking rather smug. “What did you do to Madame Desmarais?”

“It is not my business if the woman wants to arrange situations for consenting women. However, I have a problem with
slaving.
”

Alysia wondered what was so horrifying in that note. “I hope you aren’t doing anything illegal, Drew.”

“You mean threats of bodily harm or blackmail? Nonsense. Much easier to attack my enemy where it counts. The wallet.”

Lady Chauncey gave a prim
humf
in agreement.

“
Andrew…
” Alysia warned.

“Don’t worry, Lisa. I only shifted around some capital and placed it where it would concern Mme. Desmarais’ finances, should I put pressure on certain stockholders to move certain holdings. They would, if I ordered it. I merely made her aware of the precarious situation.”

“That is
extortion!
”

“No! Selling an innocent girl as a whore for twenty-thousand pounds—
that
is a crime, not to mention what she planned to do to force your compliance. I merely explained to madame what she had gotten herself into and informed her of what would take place if she ever attempts this sort of thing again.”

After a thick silence, Alysia asked, “Where are we going?”

“We—all of us—are going to Lady Chauncey’s house on
rue de Jardinet
.”

“Lady Chauncey,” Alysia asked carefully, “You are well-acquainted with Lord Preston?”

“Why, yes, wouldn’t you say so, Andrew?” Lady Chauncey obviously relished all the mischief.

He smirked. “Yes, quite.” Satisfied after removing what seemed like half his clothing, Andrew settled back against the cushion and closed his eyes with a sigh. He unceremoniously shed Alysia’s glove, looped her arm around his, and held her hand with their fingers entwined.

She had tried for over a year to cool her feelings for Andrew. Judging by the way her skin burned and her heart squeezed, it hadn’t worked in the least. Alysia couldn’t decide if she was relieved or ill, or both. She groaned. “Lord Courtenay is going to kill me. And then you, Andrew.”

Chapter Eight

Reputation is an idle and most false imposition;

oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.

Othello
, William Shakespeare

“Well, well. And here you are in the
Times,
finally,” Lady Chauncey said airily. “It has crossed the channel.”

She quoted, holding the paper high,
“The recently disappeared Lord P. resurfaced in Paris, attending a function of questionable repute. Reportedly Lord P. departed with a Miss V., lately well-known for her Prix de Rome near miss and lead role in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Théâtre du Châtelet. Also seen in their company was one of our favorites, Lady C., to whom we send our thanks for most colorful and entertaining reports Season after Season.”

Lady Chauncey beamed. “Oh good, they did comment on my gown, but that is farther down in the article. It seems you have become the new darling of the society columns, Miss Villier.” She smiled in mock-apology. “I relinquish the title proudly.”

Alysia moaned. “Could it possibly get any worse?”

“It already has. Here, in
Journaux,
just today…
oh, yes, they have decided what you are about.” She translated,
“We have it on good authority that Mlle. V. left the patronage of Mme. D. and has taken a benefactor, the English earl Lord P., who has not been spied in London nor in Paris for some weeks. It is assumed he is otherwise occupied—
How scandalous! That truly is unkind,” she commented before continuing.

“One must question what effects these recent events will have on the rumored betrothal of Lord P. and Miss
E. — who, perhaps not coincidentally, is noticeably missing from Almack’s as of late. One can only guess where our favorite on-dits have gone to play.”

Lady Chauncey set the paper on the table. “It is not only this one, Miss Villier.
Le Monde
ran a similar piece. But I trust you get the idea.”

Andrew wandered into the room, barefooted, a model of fashionable
dishabille
. He had been lounging all week and never bothered to dress properly. Alysia remembered he always did agitate poor Marsden, his valet. Since their arrival at Jardinet Street, Andrew had been busy receiving and sending mountains of messages and letters. And reading, nearly constantly; newspapers, periodicals, books. He sat next to Alysia wearing only his trousers and half-buttoned shirt, holding a folded newspaper.

The first day at Lady Chauncey’s house he had asked Alysia not to throw tantrums. “I will sort it all out. Let us enjoy some time together,” he begged, and she couldn’t refuse, not with his voice in a low purr and his bloodshot eyes evidence of the trouble he’d gone to on her behalf.

He often sat near her with his book while she sketched, with an arm around her shoulders, his hand on hers, and sometimes he toyed with her hair. If the world didn’t seem upside down, it might have been like old times. Lady Chauncey went out at night, leaving them alone in the house. That worried Alysia at first, but each night Andrew escorted her to her door, kissed her once on the forehead and went to his own room. In a way it felt like how an elderly married couple might pass time together.

“I suppose you know what is being said?” she asked him.

“Hmm. Yes, but it is to be expected.”

“You don’t seem overly concerned.” The irritation in her voice must have caught his attention; he finally looked up from his paper.

“Should I be?”

Lady Chauncey answered for him, “Lord Preston is often in the papers, Miss Villier. Perhaps he has become like me; either inured or amused by the gossip.”

He chuckled. “No one is quite like
you,
Lady Chauncey. But it is as you say; I couldn’t care less what some idiot writes in the papers. Besides, none of what they have printed this time is untrue, for a change.” He smiled broadly and Lady Chauncey joined in, then he puzzled over Alysia’s expression.

“And you are looking as pleased as a wet cat because…”

“Well, only that I am ruined, and your fiancée will surely not have you now that this story is out. Should I be pleased with something?”

Lady Chauncey spoke first, “Miss Villier, you were
ruined
the moment you set out for Paris alone. Involving yourself with Mme. Desmarais, the theater company, and striking out as an independent artist were all nails in the coffin.”