Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7) (13 page)

“We need time. Besides, Mrs. Roach has an advertisement in the paper for both a nurse and a nursemaid. They are a different class of female. I hope we can hook at least one sort into this household. It’s not such a bad place.”

“No, it’s clean and the food is good,” Betsy said, putting her hands down. “From the servant’s perspective.”

“And the head of household isn’t completely an ogre,” he teased.

She smiled at him. He wanted to kiss her but suspected this was absolutely the wrong moment to attempt it. His mind would have to rule over his passion for now, but the desire to take her in his arms seethed within him, especially now that he knew the intimate details of her beautiful body.

“Right?” he said softly. “Not an ogre?”

“No. I promise I will attempt to separate my thoughts about you from my frustration with my father. But please don’t argue with him at dinner.”

“I shall do my best to avoid it. But you see you will have to invite your sister to stay for the evening meal. She can distract him.”

Betsy patted his arm. “I understand. I shall.”

 

Betsy poked at her overly warm pillow and rolled off it with a frustrated groan later that night. The stifling air of the room made it impossible to sleep. Every time she started to relax, Greggory’s hopeful voice came to mind again. Despite having lost his young wife, his outlook on life seemed so much rosier and more optimistic than hers.

Of course he had so much less to lose. She risked her position and a pregnancy by staying the course they had set. No wonder her perspective was darker than his. All he’d lose was a lover. He’d admitted he’d had no one but her since his wife died, though. That had to mean something. But he hadn’t said he loved her, and wouldn’t he know after two years of working with her?

She rolled over again, turned her pillow around. Of course he’d been married for part of that time. He wouldn’t have looked at her that way, and then he’d needed time to mourn. Maybe romantic thoughts hadn’t been in his mind until recently.

What if she were merely convenient? She hadn’t missed her father’s point that she was second wife material. Not good enough for a first wife. They were both so young, however. He’d want society beyond his family. Did he have a club? Sporting interests? Friends? She had no idea. He spent a great deal of time at Redcake’s. It had paid off at first, in a thriving business. More recently, she suspected he spent a great deal of that time staring out the window behind his desk. Her workload never seemed to reduce.

Did she want to marry a man and manage his home as well as his business? The prospect seemed exhausting, yet it came with its own benefits. A comfortable home, no money worries. What she would have thought she’d give for either of those things in the past. And yet separating from her father would bring her both, from the labor of her own hands. Assuming she could keep her position.

She needed to decide if she wanted Greggory himself. She needed to understand whether he really, truly found her worthy to be a Redcake. How she wished she could speak to Lady Hatbrook. Her friend had always been so practical, back before she was Lady Hatbrook. She missed her friend, the simple times, Ewan. Young, busy people who thought they were solid, middle-class citizens. Now she had been left behind, and the comfort of her life had turned into a mess of money trouble, violence, and homelessness.

She hadn’t lost everything, though. Not her drive to succeed. Not her intelligence. Not even her looks, though she’d never relied on them.

When she flipped her pillow again, the opposite side had finally cooled enough to allow her to relax. She fell asleep thinking about all those stars in the sky tonight, wishing she could count them as blessings instead of as problems.

 

Prissy flipped through a year’s backlog of
Myra’s Journal of Dress and Fashion
, seated in Greggory’s parlor the next afternoon. Betsy had older issues of
Le Moniteur de la Mode
that the late Mrs. Redcake must have purchased in her lap. She didn’t speak French, but the fashion plates were beautiful.

“You should glance through
Les Modes Parisiennes
next,” Prissy said. “They have larger plates.”

“Such sweet clothes for children,” Betsy said, reluctantly setting the French publication down.

“Already dressing those babies upstairs?” Prissy teased.

“It’s hard not to. I believe they slept through the night last night. If they would do that consistently, they would be absolutely perfect children.”

“You aren’t going to marry Mr. Redcake just to be his babies’ stepmama, are you?”

“He hasn’t proposed,” Betsy said. “Merely asked my father if he could court me.”

“Hmmm,” Prissy said, with a finger to her cheek. “You are living under his roof, with pressure not to leave, and he’s brought your father in line. If he doesn’t propose by the end of the month, he’s behaving in an utterly disgraceful fashion.”

“I know,” Betsy said. “But he has so much on his mind.”

Prissy picked up her half-eaten plate of sponge cake and dribbled another teaspoon of strawberry jam over it. “Did you make this? So delicious.”

“It is an easy recipe,” Betsy said. “I’m not much of a baker, but sponge is easy.”

“You’ll have to show me how. Of course one doesn’t need a skill like this to be Mr. Redcake’s wife.”

“No. I probably don’t even need a trousseau. All of Letty Redcake’s linens are still relatively new.”

“Just personal things, to entice your new husband,” Prissy said. “You don’t have the money for anything more.”

“I can give you some money now, if I’m prepared not to take the lodgings I found on Wednesday. But I’m not convinced I should stay.”

“Stay until the end of the month,” Prissy said. “Give him a chance to declare himself. You’re a fool to give up. It’s everything a girl like us wants. Quite a step up the ladder, wouldn’t you say?”

She reached for another magazine. “Of course, even as a second wife.”

“Don’t be bitter,” Prissy admonished. “Think of it as having a trained husband, instead of having to do all the work yourself. I would dearly love a similar opportunity.”

Betsy smiled despite herself as Mrs. Roach came into the room. She picked up her teacup as the housekeeper spoke.

“A Miss Carter has come to call, miss.”

“It’s Violet,” Betsy said with a frown. “I wonder why she is here. Please, send her in, Mrs. Roach.” She finished her cup of tea while the housekeeper went back to the door.

Violet came in, looking strained. Her eyes appeared even larger than usual, with dark circles underneath. Her hair hadn’t been washed recently and had lost much of its curl.

“My goodness,” Prissy said. “Your new lodgings must not be agreeing with you.”

“Betsy looks tired, too, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Violet said, sitting down gracefully in an armchair.

“I tossed and turned all night,” Betsy confirmed. “What we need is a good walk in the countryside. Some fresh air.”

“That sounds lovely, but I’m afraid to be outdoors,” Violet said with a shiver.

Betsy reluctantly passed her a large slice of cake and a cup of rather cold, overbrewed tea. She’d never be able to serve it in the tearoom in such a state. But she didn’t want to put on airs in front of Mrs. Roach.

Violet took them with an abstracted air. “As you know, I’ve gone to stay with Winnie Baxter’s family. They have a flat in Bayswater, which isn’t an area of town we ever spent time in; my mother, my brother, or me, I mean.”

“You saw him?” Betsy gasped.

“At Whiteleys on Queen’s Road,” Violet confirmed.

“Do you think he’s found employment there?”

Violet rolled her eyes. “He demanded money from me. I think he followed me from work last night. It’s just my bad luck. We had remained indoors since returning home from Redcake’s yesterday.”

“I wonder where he slept,” Prissy said with a shiver.

“Not the flat. The rent was due yesterday for this week, so it’s gone now.”

“What happened to your possessions?”

“Your father helped me retrieve everything. It’s all here, somewhere, I think.”

Prissy gave Betsy a sympathetic look. Betsy appreciated that her sister shared her concern for her father’s overindulgence with the Carters. She hoped he didn’t turn his romantic regard to pretty Violet in the wake of her mother’s death.

“That means you have fresh clothing here,” Prissy said brightly. “You could have a wash and change and feel much better.”

Violet clasped her hands together. “Really? Do you think I could?”

“No,” Betsy broke in. “No, you could not. This is not my house; it is Mr. Redcake’s.”

“He’d allow it. He’s courting you,” Prissy wheedled.

“What a way to make him change his mind,” Betsy said tartly. Surely Prissy knew better. “This is not what we need to be doing. If Victor followed Violet to the Baxter home, who is to say he didn’t follow her here? We need to tell the police he’s been spotted.”

“We can’t go outside,” Violet squeaked. “I don’t want to see him. What if he hurts us?”

“He’s going to keep scaring us and yes, possibly hurting us, if we don’t keep the police aware of when you’ve seen him, Violet. We haven’t any choice.”

“We can go together,” Prissy said. “Strength in numbers.”

“Strength in numbers?” Greggory said, walking into the parlor. “What’s all this? A revolution?”

Betsy smiled despite herself. He had been upstairs with the babies. The evidence was a fresh dark stain on his shoulder, probably a cleaned-up baby mess. “Violet saw Victor today, in Bayswater. We’re wondering if he followed her here.”

Greggory’s expression went grim. “You girls stay inside. I’ll go fetch the police.”

Half an hour later, he returned with PC Rivers, who had given Greggory his personal address. He listened to what Violet had to say.

“No sign of him around here,” the constable said. “But I’ll contact the police in the area and have them keep an eye out. We don’t want dangerous men walking the street. Don’t go about alone, miss.”

Violet nodded, looking terrified. PC Rivers cleared his throat. “Would you like an escort home, miss?”

“Would you mind terribly?”

Betsy watched the girl flutter her pale eyelashes and wondered if this had been her game all along, to have the police on her side in case of trouble. At least she seemed to genuinely dislike her brother, and Betsy could believe Victor had followed Violet in Bayswater.

“Not at all.” PC Rivers smiled, the lack of any lines around his eyes accentuating his youth.

Violet stood with a smile. “Thank you so much for the tea and cake, Betsy. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye, Prissy, Mr. Redcake.”

“One thing—” Greggory said.

“Yes, sir?” Violet asked.

“Do you think your brother killed Manfred Cross?”

Violet blinked hard, as if she was trying not to cry. “I have no idea, sir, but if he did, it was directed at me. Why I would see him killing a stranger as a threat, I have no idea. Is there any chance he could have killed Mr. Cross thinking he was Ralph?”

Betsy felt her eyes go wide. She and Prissy stared at each other in horror. “I never thought of that. But how could he possibly have thought that, when my father doesn’t work in Kensington?”

Violet shook her head. “I don’t know, but Victor hates your father. It was an idea.”

“Do you think Ralph is in danger?” Greggory asked.

“Probably no more so than I am. I’ve betrayed him after all,” Violet said.

“Come, miss, let’s leave them to their dinner,” the constable said.

Violet nodded and retrieved her hat. The constable nodded at them and opened the parlor door, then they both went out.

“Where is my father?” Betsy asked with a shiver.

“I don’t know, but I expect we should keep a closer eye on him. I have no idea whether he and Cross were even the same size,” Greggory said.

“Lord Judah would know,” Betsy said.

Prissy stood abruptly. “If you don’t mind, I have a bit of a headache, and I’d like to return home while it’s still bright daylight.”

“Of course,” Betsy said. “I hope you aren’t becoming ill.”

“Just the strain of staring at so many lovely dresses I can’t afford,” Prissy said with a laugh. “May I borrow this magazine? I’ll make a pattern from this engraving. I think it will be perfect for you.”

“Of course,” Greggory said. “Do you want me to walk you home?”

“No, of course not. Stay with Betsy. No one is after me.” Prissy smiled and tucked the magazine under her arm. “Have a lovely evening, both of you.”

Betsy was left to stare at Greggory, but as Prissy left through the front door, she heard more footsteps, and her father appeared in the doorway. She wouldn’t be dining alone with Greggory after all.

“D
o you know, I can almost accept the lack of customers today,” Greggory said, leaning an arm against the window behind his desk and resting his forehead on it.

“Why do you say that?” Betsy asked.

“Our morning meeting is usually interrupted at least three times. But here it is Monday and we’ve been here alone a full ten minutes.”

“Maybe you locked the door,” Betsy said.

Greggory turned to her with a smile. “I should do exactly that.” He crossed to the door, moving with more swiftness than usual, and turned the key in the lock.

“I take it the twins slept well again,” Betsy said, noting the bounce in his step.

“Yes, and Mrs. Roach’s advertisements are in the papers today, so I hope we’ll have some new nursery help within a week.”

“That would be perfect.”

“Yes, it is impossible to plan for the future if I have to spend most of my evenings, every evening, with the babies. I love them, but it is trying.”

“And very hard on your wardrobe. You need to wear an apron, like women do.”

He chuckled. “I’ve noticed the shoulders of some of my coats are becoming worn from all the scrubbing.”

Betsy whipped off her apron and handed it to him. “Will it fit?” she asked, teasing him.

Greggory made a show of trying it on. “No, I’m afraid not. It doesn’t even go over my shoulders.”

She put a hand to her forehead. “A pity.”

“Not really. You are down one item of clothing.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “What will it take to get you out of the rest?”

“Mr. Redcake!” she gasped.

“Greggory,” he corrected. “We’re courting, remember?”

“Courting doesn’t take place here,” she admonished.

“I think it must,” he said with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “At home there are babies and servants and your father and guests.”

“It is a busy household,” she agreed, “but courting doesn’t mean intimacies.”

His lips curved. “Having been with me once, will you deny me now?”

She cast her gaze to the floor. She’d been afraid of this but was surprised they’d lasted this long. “You were a wonderful lover, but it’s such a risky thing to do.”

He stepped to her and cupped her cheek. “And such a wonderful thing to do.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Such a burden you carry, and so much stress. We can relieve it, you know.”

“What a Casanova,” she murmured.

Her words were answered with a naughty grin. “It’s my Italian blood. It runs hotter than the average Englishman’s.”

She put her hand to his chest, her body’s craving warring with her good sense.

“No one will disturb us. We always meet for a good hour on Mondays once the day is underway.”

“Do you think anyone suspected this was how we spent our time, all along?” she whispered.

“One benefit of the lack of undermanagers at this location is that there are few to question us,” he said. “We have no Mr. Pophams.”

“Or Mr. Hellmans,” she said.

“Come, let’s not talk of unpleasantries,” he said, deftly flipping open a few buttons on her dark orange blouse.

“Good heavens.” She breathed. “We couldn’t possibly, actually, well . . .”

“Oh, yes, we could.” His tongue touched his upper lip. He pushed her jacket off her shoulders, locking her arms against her body with the fabric while he undid her shirtfront. Then, he pulled off the blouse and jacket together, leaving her arms bare. His gaze glittered with a kind of avarice. She knew he wanted her. She softened and warmed in answer, the female in her answering to the male’s mating call.

“I’m not sure you are very good for me,” Betsy said as he began to disrobe.

“Oh, I’m going to be very good for you, darling.” His words were as good as a caress.

She watched him take off his clothes, her fingers mimicking his movements until they were both nude. He needed no urging, no intimate touch, to be ready for her. His manhood jutted out from the arrogant nest of dark curls, beaded with evidence of his readiness for her. Her mouth went dry as her feminine places moistened.

“What would you have done with that if I wasn’t here to take care of it?” she asked.

He chuckled, the sound pressing against her like a physical force on her body, a stack of cake boxes full of heavy pastry leaning on her torso as she hauled them up the stairs.

“You should spend more time downstairs,” she said, stepping closer. “You’d smell like a bakery rather than an accounting office.”

“Don’t you like the smell of ink and paper?”

“I should. But you know what smells like money to me?”

“What?” He trailed his fingers along her collarbone.

“Frosting. Butter cream frosting.”

“I’d like to cover you in it,” he said with a naughty glint in his eye. “Lick it off you.”

“I’d run downstairs for some, but I’m not properly dressed.”

“Yes, you are.” He picked her up, folding her against his chest, and set her on his desk.

She wrapped her fingers around the edge and leaned back slightly so she could see his face. He was intent, examining her. She hoped he wasn’t cataloging her faults. Heavy breasts, wide hips. But his gaze felt accepting, and he certainly hadn’t lost his erection.

“I want to turn you over and take you against the desk,” he said. “But then you’d have to smell the paper.”

“Right,” she said.

“Or maybe face-to-face against the wall.”

“Oh?” Her voice caught.

He shook his head. “Lay back.”

“Really?”

He nodded. She let go of the desk and did as he’d ordered. To keep her head on the wood, she had to set her hips on the very edge of the desk. Greggory put his hands under her knees and pulled them up until her feet rested on the edge of the desk, too.

“So wet,” he crooned. “Pink and glistening, just for me.” He dipped his fingers between her cleft. She moaned as they went inside her body. Her head fell back, exposing her neck.

He leaned over her. “Yes, darling, moan for me.”

“Someone will hear.”

He smiled. “No one is nearby.” He pulled his fingers out, then pressed in again, circling her pearl with his thumb at the same time.

She arched her back like a cat in reverse, a slave to everything he did to her. Ewan had never owned her so completely. What power did Greggory have over her body, her good sense?

He pulled his fingers from her, then licked them avidly, making her think of warm, tender pulls of his mouth on her tender breasts. But his hands went to her hips, his gaze still on her face, holding her steady while he thrust his cock into her channel in one long, endless stroke. She exhaled hard, gasping, and lost herself completely.

He held her hips as she shuddered, staring into her eyes. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” he said, then began to thrust inside her again, not giving her a chance to gather herself.

She locked her knees against his hips, holding him inside her. He let go of her hips and trailed his hands up her torso, pushing her arms up over her head until they were off the table, floating in air, arching her back farther. Then he bent over her and plundered her breasts, nipping and licking and sucking until her world compressed into nothing but sensation and the musk of his body.

When she fell apart again, he came with her. A minute or ten later, she slowly moved her arms back to the table, wrapping them against his hot, damp back. His mouth nestled against her shoulder. For the first time, she noticed how hard the desk was against her back and the base of her skull, wondered if she had ink decorating her back, columns of numbers going up and down her spine.

“I need my own office so I can ravish men on my desk,” she said sleepily.

She felt his laugh rumble through his body, against hers.

“Just me, I hope.” He lifted his head and stared directly into her eyes, almost too close for her to focus on his warm coffee eyes.

“You have mastered me so thoroughly, I’m afraid I would be useless to any other man,” she admitted.

“After only twice?” he teased.

“I’m as shocked as you are. I thought I was more sophisticated.”

He levered himself off her, but instead of helping her to her feet, he went to his chair, behind her head, and sat in it, resting his lips in her hair. “You haven’t had time for much of a personal life, regardless of how many lovers you’ve managed to take.”

Her eyes popped open at his words. What did he think of her? “Just two. A man I wanted to marry and you.”

“Who you also want to marry, I hope.” He put his palms against her shoulders and massaged them.

She thought about that until he prodded her. “I hope?”

“I haven’t thought much about it,” she mumbled. “With everything else that is going on. It’s been difficult for me to focus on any one thing. You confuse me.”

“You want to marry me,” he said. “Let us not be confused about that.”

“It stands to reason,” she agreed pertly. “Here we are after all.”

“Don’t make me wait too long,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Before you admit the truth to me.”

What truth? Was she supposed to declare her love when he’d done nothing but speak to her father about courting her? They were supposed to be getting to know each other. She wasn’t exactly sure how one courted under these circumstances. Surely most people didn’t court by merely having intimacies.

She found his head with one arm and feathered her fingers through his hair, the heavy, straight strands feeling like silk. “When are you going to court me?”

He leaned forward and chuckled. “Isn’t this courting?”

“Is this how you courted your Letty?” she countered, sitting up.

He seemed mesmerized by the sway of her breasts. She gave him a minute, then poked his arm.

“I—no, not until we were formally engaged at least.”

“She wasn’t a virgin?” Betsy asked, fascinated.

“We anticipated our wedding date by a small amount. Six weeks, I think. She wouldn’t have risked it any earlier. Letty was a girl who wanted a small waist in a beautiful gown at her wedding, but she also wanted me.”

“You must have been happy,” she said, starting to think about dressing again.

“Yes, we were. But that means I know how to be happy, in a marriage, with another person.”

Betsy knew he meant well, but the thought didn’t help. “She was like you, though, and I’m not.”

“For two years we have shared a life during the workday six days a week. I think if we were not fundamentally alike we’d never have managed as we do.”

“Working together is so different from romance.”

“No, my dear, it decidedly is not.”

The way he said it made her, more than ever, want clothing on. She slid off the desk and found her combinations, then stepped into them.

“Do you want me to explain?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“This part, where one can think of nothing but touching, of intimate ecstasy, is not continuous. I cannot even say if it returns after a baby is born,” he admitted, “as I never had the chance to find out. But family life is a business. The house needs to be managed, the children raised. Everyone must work together.”

“Not a very romantic view.”

“But I know because I’ve lived it, and truly, it was romantic. I never loved Letty so well as when I saw her with the babies in her arms. There were a few days before the fever began, and it was nearly a month before it killed her.”

“At least she could enjoy them, a little.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry you are uncomfortable.”

“It’s just that we are in your office. I can’t do this, Greggory.” For some strange reason, she wanted to cry now. Redcake’s was her temple. She felt pure and clean here. “Not at Redcake’s; I’m sorry.”

He came toward her, a tall, lean, beautiful man in his full strength, and wrapped his arms around her. She tucked her face against his heart and listened to it beat. His back felt warm and solid under her arms, peaceful.

“I won’t touch you here if it makes you sad.”

He recognized her emotion, then. How sweet. “I think I’ve simply come to the end of my courage with you, for this little time. I need to repair my armor and go back to work.”

“I can understand that. It must be hard for you to feel really emotional when you’re the kind of girl who is all responsibility and hard work.”

She nodded. “I’m so grateful that you understand me a little. I feel courted now.”

She felt him smile against her hair. “Now you had better feel dressed. I just remembered I have a meeting with our milk supplier in half an hour, to cut the daily delivery.”

“It has come to that?”

“Yes, Mr. Soeur said he’s running out of ways to use our full delivery. Unless our customers return, it’s time to make changes.”

“We can manage as a smaller business.”

“Yes, less of a bustling concern and more of a sleepy one,” he agreed. “But we have such a good location, it makes no sense to accept that for long.” He set her at arm’s length.

She sat down to pull on her stockings as he began to put his clothing on.

“I don’t think I’ll see you tonight. I have to visit Lord Judah.”

“At my father’s request?”

“Also simply to check in. I want to know if he’s learned anything more about Manfred Cross.”

 

Betsy went out the back at the end of the day, finally allowing her thoughts to return to that encounter with Greggory. How the man could make her body sing. She even had the idea he might actually want to marry her, for all that he hadn’t spoken to Lord Judah yet. Could she see herself as Mrs. Greggory Redcake?

She started down the steps on the side of the loading dock in a haze, almost going off the side because there wasn’t a railing. Waving her arms for balance, she half-fell back before she righted herself and saw two people off to the left, speaking intently.