The Veiled Heart (The Velvet Basement Book 1) (5 page)

 So tonight, he was a ‘Mechanic’. To match the note to Lily, he dressed as close to what he imagined a mechanic would dress when heading out on the town.

This morning, after the visit to Harrods, he’d shopped premade clothes for the first time in his life. As Lord Worthington, he had no call for what he had on tonight. Chocolate brown pants and jacket, russet waistcoat, an off-white shirt, and dark brown tie. He drew the line at all the fancy plaids and colors that many of the working class men wore. The dark navy seaman’s jacket from his time in Canada helped him look the part.

To his mind, meeting as they had last night and doing what they did gave him some latitude around identity.

From a cab across the street, he could watch the front of Lily’s townhouse. He clicked his fob open: eleven p.m.

The last of the spring sun had long streaked the sky with burnt pinks and mauves. A turbulent canopy of clouds now dominated the night sky, a testament to the capriciousness of nature as it heralded the inevitable rain.

It didn’t take a genius to know Lily would head out again tonight, rain or no rain. He had two reasons. Her need to know about the sheaths last night held an urgency, a pulse that bordered on panic. And buying out London’s inner city supply in one night spoke of a plan in the hands of a woman who took bold jumps. He’d experienced that firsthand.

A panel in front of the driver’s feet opened on the hansom cab and the man bent down to speak into the carriage.

“You still want to wait, sir?”

“Yes.” Of course.

The panel slid closed.

After he’d seen her face, he didn’t need her address. She’d been ‘the tabloid princess’. Miriam and her husband, Freddy Rothbury, had been gossip column favorites. Their every action had guided London’s social set. A beautiful couple with the perfect marriage doing all the perfect things a young couple should. Balls, dinner parties, outings to the opera, house parties, trips to the Lake District, travel to the continent. They were icons of a life of good fortune. Their union made the best business sense to the families, as he was intimately aware, and from day one had been touted the love match of the decade.

Freddy. Seeing Freddy with her in every photo drove him to America and then Canada. But even there, the images turned up. His hand tightened around the polished wood on his walking cane. The idea of Freddy touching her had always rankled. Now it burnt a hole in him. Those moans, the hungry squeeze as she came. What man wouldn’t want it all to be his?

Across the street, a cab rolled up and stopped by the front gate. The front door to the house opened. A servant in a crisp black suit and white shirt approached the cab and spoke to the driver, gesturing down the block.

Worthington knocked his cane on the roof and his cabbie followed the other carriage as it moved down the road.

He leaned back and closed his eyes.

Miriam… Lily. Her image came to his mind as it had been last night with the veil lifted, her cheeks flushed and eyes heavy-lidded.

London’s most reclusive widow.

Being a widow a year and a half into a marriage wasn’t so unusual, but the period of mourning was; it had gone on for years. A broken heart, everyone said. A love to last a lifetime. Debutantes whispered how they wanted a love like that. So romantic, to pine so for each other after death. Society held the belief that she’d wear widow’s weeds indefinitely.

He’d been happy for her. Happy that she seemed to mourn her husband so deeply. It meant Freddy had behaved. As much as he had hated the pictures, they always confirmed Freddy played the ideal husband. Knowing that had been the only thing that had kept him away.

A right turn at the end of the block, and they stopped.

He opened his eyes and looked out the window.

She hadn’t been a widow anything last night. She’d looked marvelous in russet gabardine, black frog closures down the front of her tight fitting jacket. And she was most certainly not mourning a husband.

They stopped at an entrance to the blocks’ common gardens.

A few minutes passed and the large wrought iron gate creaked open and Lily stepped through carrying a few boxes.

Her veil was firmly in place.

He leaned forward, a slight tightness in his chest. Then the corner of his mouth tugged up. How could it not?

She wore his veil.

It hugged the fine bones of her face, and hid her full mouth and fresh as spring skin from view. The sight of her closeted away in his gift sent an unexpected ripple of deep pleasure through him.

Of course, he’d wanted her to wear it. If she hadn’t, it wouldn’t have deterred him. However, this was better.

She wanted to see him again.

In hindsight, he should have known no woman would have resembled her that closely. His body had known in an instant. The situation of where they met, his state of mind being so determined to whore her out of his system; all of that and more had clouded the truth. Here he sat, a man with a real chance to woo her if he could keep his identity secret for a little longer, just enough to give himself a chance.

His foot tapped on the carriage floor.

He wanted to jump out and present himself. The veil signaled a sure welcome. However, he held himself back. She needed space. And he needed her wondering if he would show up.

Lily stepped into the carriage and it took off down the road. Two knocks with the tip of his cane against the roof and his cab started to move after it.

It took thirty-five minutes before his carriage stopped.

The panel slid open.

“The other cab’s stopped up ahead. Do you want me to wait?” The cabbie’s voice was thin, wary.

The narrow street had insufficient light.

“Head back to the nearest thoroughfare. How many blocks back is that, four?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine, head back there and wait.”

He stepped out and paid the cabbie a small retainer; enough so he knew he would be paid, but not enough to cover his fare, ensuring the cabbie would be where they’d agreed.

This was a god-awful part of town, tension ticked in his jaw.

What was she thinking coming here? This was where women dressed as she was would be bundled up in a Hessian sack, stowed on a ship, and sold in a slave auction to the highest-paying savage.

They’d met in the sex shop, that might be true; and yes, she’d had sex with him in the carriage. However, she was out of her league down here. Whatever she thought this was, coming here alone was a very bad judgment call.

Up ahead, Lily was marching down the alley, bustle swaying behind her as though she were marching down Piccadilly Street.

Blast her. Every instinct was to go haul her back into some semblance of humanity because there would be very little of it here.

Again, she’d come out with no companion, no one to care for her welfare or safety.

The cabbie who had dropped her off was pulling away, no doubt paid and not returning if he had any sense, despite what he may have agreed to.

How on earth did she think she was getting home? Hailing a cab in this area would be impossible.

A quick flick of the collar of his seaman’s coat and he strode after her.

He didn’t have far to go up the musty lane to where Lily entered The Split Tart.

Damn it
,
Lily. What are you thinking?

The tension climbed through the muscles in his back, along his spine, and across his shoulders twisting them tight. No man with any decent access to funds or self-preservation would frequent this disreputable brothel. Whispers said it catered to men with younger needs and offered a supply service to the continent.

Worthington moved quickly toward the building, a stand-alone structure with the external paint peeling and etched with grime. Gaslights lit the sign, and the front door was ajar. He pushed it open and stepped inside, tensing for the unexpected.

No sight of her anywhere.

The tightening in his shoulders increased.

She’d already passed through and could be anywhere in this seedy den.

Lacking gaslights, the inside was lit with candles. Dark smudges ran up the walls above the sconces. Everything about the entrance spoke of a lack of concern for hygiene and human standards.

Two large men came around the corner and blocked him from moving further into the establishment. The pungent smell of sweat radiated from them in a pervasive wall.

“Stand aside.” His heart started to beat faster as he tightened his fists at his side.

“Not so fast, gov’ner. We’re closed for the next hour and then some. Come back later.”

Later. Instinctively he moved his weight onto his back foot. Not bloody likely. He would not leave Lily in here by herself.

Years of brawling had all of them tense up at his change in body language.

“Now, we don’t want no trouble. There’s a pub down the road; wait there and come on back when the girls are all done.”

“Let me through.”

He didn’t adjust his stance. His voice was tight, and as bloody aristocratic and commanding as he could muster.

They were both large and built as though made to fend off the Titans. Taking them on and walking away was falling into fifty/fifty odds. Then one of them stepped back and walked into a small room off the entrance. He’d been assessed as low risk. With effort, he lowered his hands.

“Listen,” said the titan killer as he stepped forward, placed a slab of a hand on his shoulder. “The girls are all booked, the whole damn lot of them.”

She must have booked out the whole brothel. His head shook of its own accord. And he agreed. “Crazy woman. And she’s mine.”

“Not my concern.” The man held up his arms. “But her marching in here alone had us wondering.”

“Difference of opinion in the cab.” The barefaced lie passed his mouth with ease.

The man nodded in understanding and grinned. “Follow the corridor, take the steps down. They’re all in the far back room.”

Finding the room was easy. Prostitutes were heading in, dressed in their shifts, pantaloons, shawls, and corsets. The bare minimum to get down to business quickly and yet generate enough to interest the mind at what was underneath.

A couple of blondes stopped when they saw him. Thrust out their breasts.

“Hey, mister, I’d do you for free.” She tugged down her chemise and let a full plump breast slip over her corset. “Come have a suckle, darling, I don’t bite.”

He cocked his head to the side and smiled, shrugged; she laughed then turned and went into the room.

A few more girls arrived before the corridors quieted.

He hung back in the corridor and waited a good five minutes, sure that all those due to attend were there. Inside, poorly lit steps led down into a large room in the basement. No doubt, the biggest room the brothel had for the workers to congregate in a single group.

The room sat partially above ground with long narrow windows high on the wall for some light during the day. It had some tables and chairs as well as baskets and boxes with vegetables. Carrots, potatoes, and some cabbages.

He pressed himself into the shadows and out of sight.

Veil removed, Lily stood at the front of the room and explained the virtues of protection to a crowd who were there because they’d been told to be. Most of them were chatting amongst themselves and not paying much attention.

To his mind, she was doing a stellar job given that last night was the first she’d heard of most of the facts she was presenting. His chest felt strange watching her speak so earnestly about the girls’ rights. She discussed their worth and the importance of taking charge of their bodies.

The fun started when she handed out the sheaths and the girls demonstrated strategies for using them.

Someone pulled out one of the carrots and established a competitive edge as those more experienced used not only their hands, but also their mouths and breasts to perform the task.

The changes in his Lily could not be mistaken. As the women started to play with the sheaths, experiment, and laugh, she relaxed.

Her laughter, when it came, was released like a bark. It just built up and burst out of her in the most undignified and yet captivating way. No, there would be no shy giggles behind her hand, not for his fearless Lily.

It should have at least made him smile, but it didn’t. Every second thumped tension in him. For her to be here now meant she had been here before, most likely on her own. He was tense at his own safety, even dressed down as he was he was clearly a man or more means that the residents, this late, this area, they were asking for real trouble.

In just under an hour, Lily packed her things, wrapped her veil back tightly around her face, and slipped on her overcoat to take her leave from a woman who seemed to be the proprietress. The leave taking involved an exchange of some kind of purse.

Blast it!

She had to pay for the privilege to help.

He slipped out of the room and waited in the corridor as the girls came out. What would make her come here? Put herself in danger? She was clearly not some suffragette. However, these women were important to her. Well, at least doing this for them was. Enough to ignore her own safety.

He moved back down the dimly lit space in the opposite direction of the exit.

The girls filed past in waves of cheap perfume and sweat, encased in yellowed chemises and worn corsets.

Some were twirling their sheaths and others stuffing them between their breasts.

“I’m ’ere to make a living. No food is going on the table if I have to ask every John to slip his piece in this.” A large, wiry-haired blonde had the sheath over two of her fingers and waved it around while wriggling her body around suggestively.

The four girls around the blonde laughed and started dueling with their sheath-covered fingers.
“Down
,
boy.” “Give it to me. Oh, just like that
,
big boy.”

A buxom matronly type marched past the lot of them.

“I’m keeping mine. The bleeders put all sorts in your mouth.” The matron waved hers under his nose. “Something for you, honey?” She smiled and showed only gums. What could he do? If he smiled, there was no saying what that could be interpreted as. So like a man in a basin of cobras he stayed as still as possible. The matron laughed and walked past.