Regency Rogues and Rakes: Silk is for Seduction / Scandal Wears Satin / Vixen in Velvet / Seven Nights in a Rogue's Bed / A Rake's Midnight Kiss / What a Duke Dares. Loretta Chase
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breath, “One. Two. Three. Four. F—”
“Wait.”
Pritchett paused without turning around.
Mrs. Downes walked very quickly toward her. Not a minute later, a very large purse changed hands, and a very short time thereafter, Pritchett stepped into the coaching office to order a post chaise.
Though she and her sisters had made a plan before they collapsed, exhausted, in their beds, Marcelline slept poorly.
She’d watched while one of the maidservants bathed Lucie—and the other one bathed the doll, taking off her filthy little gown and sponging her off—even sponging the soot from her hair—as though it was the most normal thing in the world. They took the doll’s dress away to clean, along with Lucie’s clothes. Then Lucie had to see the dollhouse. By that time, she had three maidservants wanting to look after her. They moved a dainty little bed into a pretty little room adjoining Marcelline’s. And that was where Lucie had wanted to sleep: not with her mother, but in state.
Her child was safe, probably safer than she’d ever been in all her short life. All the same, Marcelline had nightmares. She dreamed that Lucie hadn’t escaped the fire, and Marcelline had gone to the mouth of Hell, screaming for her daughter, and she’d heard horrible laughter in answer before the door slammed in her face.
The next morning, when the maid came in with chocolate, Marcelline discovered that she’d slept much later than usual. It was past nine o’clock, she was told, and Lucie was having breakfast with the duke.
She leapt from the bed, rejecting the chocolate. “Where are my sisters?” she said.
They’d agreed to rise by half-past six. The seamstresses had been told to go to the shop at eight. By now they would have arrived and found a charred spot where the shop used to be.
“Mrs. Michaels said we were not to disturb you, Mrs. Noirot,” the maid said. “But Miss Lucie was asking for you, and I was told I might wake you.”
Noirot didn’t burst into the breakfast room, and she didn’t seem any more flurried or disordered than usual. Her hair was slightly askew, as always, but in a manner Clevedon felt certain was deliberate, not careless. No matter what happened, she couldn’t present herself with anything less than style.
Her face was pale, her eyes deeply shadowed. She couldn’t have slept well. He hadn’t slept well, either, and he’d awakened in low spirits.
But then he’d come down to breakfast and found Lucie, with Joseph the footman’s assistance, investigating the sideboard’s contents. Seeing her made him smile, and lightened his heart.
Now she sat at his right, enthroned upon a chair piled with pillows. She was happily slathering butter and jam on bread. Her doll sat next to her, on another chair piled with pillows.
“Ah, here is your mother,” Clevedon said, while his heart pounded. So stupid it was to pound that way, like a boy’s heart upon seeing his first infatuation.
Noirot went to her daughter and kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair.
“Good morning, Mama,” Lucie said. “We’re going to drive in the carriage after breakfast. There is a very good breakfast on the sideboard. Joseph will help you lift the covers. There are eggs and bacon and all manner of breads and pastries.”
“I haven’t time for breakfast,” Noirot said. “As soon as your aunts come down, we must leave.”
Lucie’s blue eyes narrowed, and her face set into the hard expression Clevedon had seen before.
“And you will not make a fuss,” Noirot said. “You will thank his grace for his kindness—his many kind-nesses—”
“She’ll do nothing of the kind,” Clevedon said. “We were having an interesting conversation about the dollhouse. She’s scarcely had time to play with it. She was too sleepy last night. And I promised to drive her in the carriage. I do not see what the great hurry is to be gone.”
At this moment, the two sisters entered, looking cross. Doubtless they’d been awakened before they liked, and they were hungry.
“We need to get quickly to the shop and see what can be salvaged,” Noirot said. “Someone must be there to meet the seamstresses—if they’re there. We should have sent them word last night, but I didn’t think of it until this morning. I need them. We need to find a place to work. We need to make Lady Clara’s dress.”
He ought to wince at the mention of Clara. He ought to feel ashamed, and he did. But not enough to be thrown off the course he’d devised last night, to keep his mind off what had happened in the workroom, and off what he wanted, still, though he’d got what he wanted and was supposed to be done with this woman.
“I dispatched Varley, my man of business, to your shop early this morning, along with a parcel of servants,” he said. “They reported that the structure as a whole survived, though the damage is extensive. But the contents that were not reduced to ashes are black, wet, and reeking, as I suspected. We retrieved a set of iron strongboxes, which will be carried up to your rooms as soon as the filth has been cleaned from them.”
“Carried up—”
“Varley rescued some account books or some such from wherever you’d hidden them, as well.” He gestured at the sideboard. “Everything is in hand. Pray take some breakfast.”
“In hand?” she said, and he thought she staggered a bit. But that was his mind, playing tricks. Nothing staggered Noirot.
Yet she sat down hard, in the chair to his left, opposite Lucie.
“Shall I make you a plate, Mama?” Lucie said with a suspicious sweetness. “Joseph will help me.” She set down her cutlery, wiped her hands carefully on her napkin, and made to climb down from her throne. The footman Joseph obediently came forward, helped her down, and followed her to the sideboard. She pointed and he dutifully filled the plate according to her directions.
“It’s grand to be a duke,” the blonde sister said.
“So it is,” he said. “I live in a house large enough to accommodate your work without disrupting my own life. I have a good number of servants, all of whom will be happy to do something a little different, if offered. And I possess the resources to assist you, without the least discomfort to myself, in getting your business going again.”
Joseph set the filled plate down before Mrs. Noirot, then returned to Lucie, who directed him regarding her aunts’ breakfasts.
“Accommodate us?” Noirot said. “You can’t be serious.”
“I understand that time is of the essence,” he said. “You don’t wish to lose any more business than can absolutely be helped. I’ve consulted with Varley on the matter. It’s his opinion that a suitable new location can be found within a few days. In the meantime, he agreed that you can do what needs to be done more quickly and easily from here.”
“Here,” she repeated. “You’re suggesting we set up shop in Clevedon House.”
“It’s the simplest solution,” he said.
He knew it was. He’d thought about the problem and little else for most of the night. By concentrating on her business difficulties, he’d kept the other thoughts at bay. “I’m not used to so much drama in my life. I was too excited, you see, to fall asleep. While I lay awake, my mind gnawed on your dilemma.”
“It didn’t occur to you that your mind might be addled by all the excitement?”
“On the contrary, I believe my mind was sharpened by the experience, in the way that metal is sharpened after being thrust into a fierce flame,” he said.
Her dark gaze met his, and then he couldn’t block out the memory of their hurried, furious coupling on the worktable: her choked sounds of pleasure, the mad heat and ferocious joy…
Business, he told