Rushed to the Altar (9 page)

But not for long. Mother Griffiths bustled in a few minutes later looking distinctly annoyed. “Why wouldn’t you wear the gown?”

“It’s not mine,” Clarissa said simply. “And it didn’t suit me. I prefer to wear my own clothes.”

The woman raised her eyebrows and examined Clarissa’s appearance with disapproval. “That gown’s all very well for a vicarage tea party, but it won’t attract a man’s interest.”

“I think I’ve already done that,” Clarissa returned.

Mother Griffiths frowned. Then her eyes narrowed, her expression sharpened. “So, how will you answer his lordship? I’ll tell you now, you’d be a fool to turn down such a proposition.”

“I won’t turn him down.”

Nan’s expression relaxed. “Now that’s a sensible girl. But in that case I really think you should dress to please him.”

“The earl didn’t express any objections to the gown I was wearing yesterday,” Clarissa pointed out. “Maybe he was in the mood for something different.”

“I suppose it’s possible. Men do take some strange fancies on occasion. Well, if he’s in the mood for a little virginal innocence, I’m sure you can supply it, my dear. Maybe his lordship fancies a little schoolroom play; they do sometimes.” She nodded her head. “Just play it by ear, dear, and give him what he wants. The earl is one of the easy ones to please. He won’t make any unpleasant demands.”

“I’m relieved,” Clarissa murmured. Once again she felt as if she were living in someone else’s world. What she was doing was ridiculous, and yet it wasn’t. If she
was to protect Francis in this vast city she needed more resources than she alone possessed. If the earl should question the sudden appearance of a small boy in the house occupied by his mistress, she could concoct some story about a lost child, a stolen child, that would wring the heart of the most hardened individual.

In fact, it could be her own child. Now that would really tug the heartstrings. And the existence of an illegitimate baby would make her whoredom even more convincing. It would provide the perfect excuse for her arrival in London, and it would sail close enough to the truth to make her deception all the easier to carry off. But that wouldn’t work, of course, since she couldn’t possibly have a ten-year-old child; however, she could come up with something along those lines.

“Come down now. You should wait for his lordship in the parlor.” Nan went to the door. “You’ll leave the contract negotiations to me. There’ll be no need for you to say anything, and his lordship won’t expect you to.”

She had plenty to say, Clarissa reflected, following her landlady downstairs, but she would bide her time; no point antagonizing Mother Griffiths at this point.

“Now, there’s sherry and Madeira; his lordship is partial to both.” As they entered the parlor, Nan indicated the decanters on the sideboard. “And some savory tarts. You will offer the hospitality of the house while I deal with the business side of the matter. And then once everything’s settled I’ll leave you to his lordship. He’ll tell you then what he wants of you.”

Clarissa murmured something vaguely appropriate and went to the long windows that looked out onto the street. After the night’s boisterousness King Street was quiet, deserted except for a beggar limping alongside the kennel turning over garbage with his stick. A mangy dog rushed at him, barking, before snatching up a piece of rotting meat and disappearing into an alley.

A slatternly woman emerged from a doorway pushing down her skirts and a man stepped out behind her, fastening his britches. The woman dropped a coin into her bodice and without exchanging a word, she turned up the street and he turned down it towards the Great Piazza.

Clarissa suppressed a shudder. Then she stiffened. A familiar figure was strolling towards the house swinging a silver-knobbed cane. For a moment she reveled in the indulgence of the unseen watcher. She could take in his appearance now without distraction, and it was an appearance every bit as attractive as she remembered. In fact, even more so. Everything about him bespoke wealth and privilege, from the green striped silk of his knee britches and full-skirted coat to the gold edging on his black tricorne hat. But despite the elegance of his clothes, and the leisurely fashion in which he strolled down the street, everything about the Earl of Blackwater, about his physique and his manner, warned that this was not a man to tangle with. His free hand rested on his sword hilt; his posture was alert, his eyes sharp and quick, missing nothing. She hadn’t noticed before quite
how powerful his shoulders were, but the close-fitting coat set them off to perfection, as plain dark stockings did for a pair of well-muscled calves.

A little frisson of excitement crept up Clarissa’s spine. She turned from the window, saying calmly, “His lordship is coming down the street, madam.”

“Good, punctual as always. Stay here, I will greet him in the hall.” Nan examined her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace, deftly pinched her cheeks to produce some color, and ran a dampened fingertip over her eyebrows before hurrying from the room.

Clarissa sat down and then stood up, nervous now and unsure how she wanted to present herself. She heard the door knocker and the earl’s composed tones greeting the steward. Then the door opened and the earl came in with Mistress Griffiths. He bowed to Clarissa, smiled, his black gaze sweeping over her.

“Good morning, Mistress Clarissa.”

She curtsied. “Good morning, my lord.”

He laid his hat and cane on a pier table beside the door and extended his hands to her in invitation. “You have an answer for me.”

Clarissa dampened her suddenly dry lips. She glanced at Mistress Griffiths. “Madam, I wish to talk with his lordship alone. Afterwards I will leave you to do business as you see fit, but there are some things I wish to discuss first that concern only Lord Blackwater and myself.”

Nan looked astounded, put out, and was about to
expostulate, when she remembered that this lodger was not one of her usual girls. She was neither destitute nor seemingly experienced in the ways of whoredom. It would do no good to badger her when she could simply walk out of the house if she chose.

She looked at Jasper and shrugged. He nodded. “Perhaps you’d be good enough to leave us, Nan.”

Nan glanced once at Clarissa, then with another shrug left them alone.

“So, what is it that we must discuss?” Jasper sat down, smiling amiably. “Mistress Griffiths is not accustomed to being excluded from these delicate matters.”

“No, I daresay she’s not. Sherry or Madeira?” She lifted the decanters in turn, suddenly more sure of herself now that she was alone with the earl.

“Sherry, please.” He took the glass, and a mushroom tartlet, and leaned back in his chair regarding her with a wary amusement. She seemed different now, older than she had previously, strangely determined. “So, let’s hear it.”

Clarissa kept her back to him as she took a quick fortifying gulp of sherry. Then she said, “You want me to play a part in a charade. I would like it agreed between us that that is
all
I will do. I will play the part of your mistress, but I will not
be
your mistress in any real sense.” She felt her cheeks warm as she said this. She’d never had such an awkward conversation with anyone before.

Jasper frowned at her averted back. He hadn’t really given much thought to the physical aspects of this contract,
but it had never occurred to him to question his right to whatever he wished in that area. He certainly found her physically appealing, and at the back of his mind had lurked a degree of anticipation at the prospect of bedding her. Now she was laying down conditions that caused him puzzled chagrin.

“I’m not sure I understand. You will
play
my mistress, but you won’t
be
my mistress?”

“Exactly. No one will know except you and me, but we will not have a . . . a physical arrangement.” The words seem to stick in her dry throat. How could she expect him to agree to such a condition? He believed her a whore.

“May I ask why?”

“I . . . I would like a respite from . . . from all this.” She gestured vaguely at her surroundings. “Is that so difficult to understand, sir?”

He considered. “No . . . no, I suppose it’s not.”

“I believe you said you would wish for my exclusive services. If I restrict those services to the one you really want from me, then we both get what we wish for.”

Still she didn’t look at him and didn’t hear him come up behind her, soft footed on the thick Aubusson carpet. She gave a startled gasp when he put his hands on her shoulders from behind, moving his fingers up the deep groove of her neck in a strangely soothing gesture. She could feel the heat of his body against her back and trembled.

“I would find that quite a sacrifice,” Jasper murmured,
lifting a ringlet, twisting it around his finger. His breath was warm against her ear. “It seems a somewhat uneven bargain, to buy services that will not be available to me.”

She remained motionless, almost rigid with a paradoxical mixture of apprehension and anticipation. “I will perform the service you want from me. I will enable you to inherit your uncle’s fortune. Can you not think of me purely as an actor, someone you pay to play a part?”

“But how convincingly can either of us play that part if we are not sharing the pleasures that are essential to our roles?” After not giving the matter much thought, he found that he now cared
very
much about this issue. She was a whore whom he had offered to rescue from a harlot’s life and instead of gratitude she was making insulting conditions.

“Believe me, my lord, you will have no cause for complaint.” Her voice shook a little.

He turned her to face him and she forced herself to meet his frowning gaze. “I am going to pay Nan Griffiths for your exclusive services. It seems to me that I have the right to dictate those services.”

Clarissa looked him in the eye. “You offer me the means to get out of this life, sir; as I understood it that was the incentive for me to join with you in this charade, but you still want to keep me in whoredom, for
your
benefit. Illogical, wouldn’t you say, my lord?”

He pressed finger and thumb against the bridge of his
nose as he frowned at her. She was right, of course, but it had never occurred to him Mistress Clarissa would consider she had the right to dictate terms. “That may be if you look at it from a certain perspective. But it could also be said that until you are finally free to take charge of your own life, you must continue to do what you are accustomed to doing to earn your bread. I need a whore for this task and I fail to see why you would refuse to undertake all aspects of the task. Unless, of course, you find me repulsive?” An eyebrow lifted in question.

That would be an easy way out, but for some reason it wasn’t one Clarissa could imagine taking. “No . . . no . . . it’s not that,” she said hastily. “I don’t find you repulsive. But I would like a respite from this life. I don’t know why that is so difficult to understand.”

He threw up his hands. “Let us leave it at that for the moment. I will complete negotiations with Mistress Griffiths, and then we will pay a visit together.” He went to the bell rope by the fireplace and pulled it. “The sooner we start, the sooner we will finish.”

And that, thought Clarissa, sounded like a most heartfelt wish. But how could she blame him? The man was paying for something that he wasn’t going to get. Although the caveat
for the moment
wasn’t too reassuring. It didn’t sound as if he was resigned to such a condition at all. But she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. It occurred to her that there were rather a lot of bridges she was leaving to be crossed when she came to them.

Nan came in almost before the sound of the bell had faded, and Clarissa guessed she had been waiting outside the door. “So, my lord, are we ready to do business?” She spoke to the earl but her sharp gaze was on Clarissa.

“I believe we are.” Jasper nodded and his own gaze flicked to Clarissa standing still and silent by the window. Puzzlement lurked in his dark eyes. “The usual terms apply, I assume, Nan?”

“Unless you have any unusual requests, my lord.” Nan set out a sheet of parchment on the secretaire and smoothed it with her palm. “There is no need for you to remain, Clarissa. I’ll ring for you when we’re ready for your signature.”

“You are all consideration, ma’am, but I believe I’ll stay.” Clarissa sat down with an air of composure that she didn’t feel. “I am, after all, most nearly concerned in the business.”

Nan looked as if she was about to protest but Jasper said, “Indeed you are, Mistress Clarissa. I have no objections to your presence. Let us continue, Nan.”

Clarissa listened in silence as she was bought and sold. It was the most extraordinary sensation to hear herself, her worth, discussed like some kind of commodity. Nan drove a hard bargain in the interests of her commodity, and listening to her demands Clarissa understood what Emily and Maddy had meant when they’d said Mother Griffiths looked after her own.

Nan considered Mistress Clarissa to be worth a house in Half Moon Street, with a cook-housekeeper and
maid. In addition she was to have a quarterly dress allowance, and the unlimited use of a sedan chair and carriage. In return, the Earl of Blackwater was to have her exclusive services.

Jasper made little demur to the list of requirements and for the most part listened in silence, with the occasional nod of agreement.

“And my commission is as usual, my lord,” Nan finished briskly, sanding the parchment on which she’d been writing the contract.

Clarissa longed to ask what the whore mistress expected as her usual commission. She’d done little to earn this particular one, short of a moment’s kindness in renting a servant’s garret to a naïve country chit.

“As always.” The earl sounded impatient, as if he wished to be done with the formalities. He rose from his chair and went to the secretaire, taking the quill from its pot and signing the sheet. He inverted a candle and dropped wax below his signature, then pressed his signet ring into the soft wax. “You now, Clarissa.” He spoke over his shoulder.