The King of Threadneedle Street (6 page)

****

The lake was as warm as bath water in the top twenty or so inches. The current below it cooled until her toes kicked through chilly water. Alysia ducked her head under and swam away from the bank. In the deeper water, free from the tall reeds and floating lily pads, the surface of the lake sparkled in the silver moonlight, a blurry map of reflected stars. She watched her hands make soundless ripples as she treaded water.

Liberating, to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night and swim in the moonlight. The warm and cold water swirling over her skin was like a caress. It soothed her scattered mind. Warm, cold. Elated, miserable.

It was entirely possible to feel opposite poles of emotion simultaneously, she thought. Cautious, reckless. Chaste, wanton. Dutiful, selfish.

Alysia grew weary of catering to the demands of everyone at Ashton. Ten days remaining. It was already difficult keeping the duke at bay, but now with Andrew and finally Lady Remington at Ashton, she sensed a collision coming. She didn’t think she could maintain the uneasy harmony much longer. One of the delicately balanced conflicts was bound to slip into chaos.

Relief, panic.
Lady Elizabeth would soon go away with the duke. Then Lord Courtenay would send Alysia to Viscount Harringer. With any luck, Andrew would go back to London beforehand; he wouldn’t like it. She hoped he would not make a scene.

Andrew.
She wished he hadn’t returned, only to make her discover that he still meant the world to her. Women like herself lacked the wherewithal to indulge in romance, but he was persuasive.

It didn’t help that he was so careless, content to flirt and provoke her. She didn’t doubt he would take her to bed, mindless of the consequences. At worst he would have to placate his family, and then he would carry on. She, on the other hand, would be haunted for the rest of her life at best, and be the ruined mother of his illegitimate child at worst. She neither wished to snare him into an obligation he would regret, nor tarnish the memory of their happy childhood together.

Alysia let her legs rise to the surface and floated on her back. With her ears submerged, the deep muted sounds of the water occupied her senses. The only noise was the occasional whisper of the reeds near the bank and the strangely distorted calls of night animals. The current carried her toward the narrowing stream that rambled away across the estate and eventually to the sea. She fluttered her hands to propel herself toward the other side of the lake instead, where the stream fell over a crop of rocks, covering the entrance to a shallow cave like a hanging sheet. Ancient willows surrounded the inlet, a secluded hideaway Andrew had first shown her. She had been eight years old then, and he eleven. The year she came to Ashton.

She turned and swam underwater until reaching the far side of the cove. After coming up for air, she plunged under again and dove through the line of pounding water where the falls hit the surface. Her hands thrust out in the darkness for the shelf of rock she knew was near.

Instead of moss-covered rock, one hand clasped upon a large hairy knee and the other hand on a firm length of bare, muscled thigh. She flailed and fell back into the water. The owner of the legs startled, connecting a shin with her nose. The blow nearly jolted her out of her senses, and she sank beneath the force of the heavy sheet of falling water.

Strong hands gripped her arms, lifted her out of the water, and sat her on the rock shelf. She sputtered and struck the back of her head on a ridge of rock. The gentle thunder of the waterfall echoed in the cave behind her and swallowed the sound of her whimper and stuttering breath. She could tell from the wild pulse in the hand still gripping her arm that her rescuer was recovering from shock as well.

She felt hot breath on her ear, followed by lips. “Well hello, Alysia. Fancy meeting you here,” taunted a smooth bass voice. She groaned, but he couldn’t hear it.

Shoulder to shoulder beside her sat Andrew, the length of his bare thigh pressed against hers. She kept her eyes ahead, staring at the shimmering screen of cascading water that hid them from the world.

“I apologize, Drew. I didn’t know you were here,” she shouted over the roaring water rather than search for his ear. She made a move to slide back into the water and swim away, but his hand still gripped her arm and fought her forward motion.

“Steady there, don’t fall off.” His lips found her ear again. “Are you hurt? I thought I must have kicked you.”

She raised her head to his ear, but he turned his head, and her lips slid across his jaw, tickling his evening whiskers. She felt him shudder, and her own reaction was a harrowing desire to scream. She swallowed then forced her voice into a businesslike tone. “Just my nose. But that doesn’t matter, it was crooked anyway.”

“No, it was
not!
” His other hand landed on her throat and traveled along her face until he examined the bridge of her nose gingerly with his fingertips.

“Stop that!” Feeling absurd and discomfited, she swatted his hand away.

“Seems it’s not broken.” He patted her nose. “You gave me quite a shock, Lisa.”

“Please unhand me and I will go.”

He released her arm. “Wait,” he begged, and left her side for a moment. His toes bumped her hip and he sat next to her. A bundle of fabric dropped in her lap. His knuckles grazed her ribs, and it made her suck in a breath.

“Here is my shirt. Put it on. I have my drawers on now.” When she put her arms through the long sleeves, she accidentally knocked him in the side of the head. He reached over and rolled the cuffs. “There. We are decent. Will you stay a while, then? For old time’s sake?”

His voice purring in her ear sent a shiver down her back that spread to her limbs and lingered, riding her nerves. He must have mistaken it as sign of her being cold and drew her against his side with an arm cradling her shoulders.

“We are hardly decent, Andrew. And it is impossible to sit here with you and not think of what we did here in the
old times.
”

“I was going to suggest an innocent chat, but we could do
that
, certainly. Although you must decide what you want, Lisa. I am likely to do more than just kiss you.”

“No!” she said, too loudly in his ear. “Andrew. We shouldn’t be here.”

“If I promise not to lay a hand on you—”

“You already have.”

She felt him shrug, and his heavy arm slid off her back. She missed the protective warmth then cursed herself for thinking it.

“Lisa.” He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Will you please tell me the business about your not being engaged? I know something bad is going on, or you wouldn’t evade me so.” He brushed his lips across her jaw and kissed her cheek, already forgetting his terms of negotiation. “Please? Whatever it is, I would much rather hear it from you.”

His fingers slid down a rope of hair and tugged gently at the end. Then again with another section of her hair from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. He was driving her mad.

“Fair enough. Let me think.” Concentration was impossible with him tracing icy blazes down her back. He found interest with the ridges of her spine and traced circles around them, then up her back to her neck. After pushing her hair over one shoulder, he perched his chin on her other shoulder so they could converse. She knew he was being affectionate in his own restless way and likely had no idea what he was doing to her.

“I have imposed on your family long enough. After Elizabeth’s wedding I will go to another situation. It is best for everyone if I do.”

Andrew waited, twirling his fingers in the fine hair behind her ear. It finally dawned on her the only way to make him quit: She reached behind him and gently rubbed the columns of taut muscle on his lower back, deeply with her fingertips in slow circles. She knew how he liked it, how to lull him into submission.

He relaxed, and after a few minutes he dropped his hand and made a low purr in his throat. “I know what you are doing, Lisa,” he complained in a groggy voice. “What situation?”

“A lady’s companion.”

“Whose?”

She braced herself. “Viscountess Harringer.”

“What? Lady Harringer is an invalid. She keeps a nurse, not a companion.”

“Not anymore.”

Andrew froze, stiff under her hand.

The charged silence lengthened. It was worse than the shouting about to begin.

“And what of Viscount Harringer?”

She sighed, “It is as you suspect, Andrew.”

“
What?
” He blew a few exasperated breaths. “And who made these arrangements, may I ask?”

“Whom do you think, Andrew?”

“And you have agreed?”

“It is not for me to disagree! But I cannot stay here, and it seems everyone but
you
is mindful of who I am.”

He stewed in angry silence. Now she knew a lecture was coming.

“So,” he said sourly. “You mean to turn your back on your respectable upbringing? Follow your mother as a courtesan? Then why the filthy Viscount Herringer? The Duke of Belmont is a better choice.”

Andrew gripped her jaw and forced her cheek alongside his as he lowered his voice, “He will buy you a house on Park Lane so he may stop there on his way home from the club. And there will be excursions to Paris and Milan, on matters of business, he will tell his wife.”

Alysia tried to pull away, but Andrew hadn’t finished. “What name will you make for yourself? Something catchy and English, like
Lavender Lovet
? Or exotic like your mother, such as
Violet Jade
?”

The loathing in his voice made the tears welling in her eyes spill over.

“You will glitter like a queen. Important men will make fools of themselves to win one night in your bed. Their wives will wish they could despise you but will find you charming and sympathetic. I know the sort, Lisa — they are my kind.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her remaining shred of pride forced her to make no sound. He ranted, still gripping her face, “The dark side of that life? Despite more admiration than you could possibly handle, you will always wake
alone
in the morning.” He let it hang in the air, condemning her.

“You will be a master of abortifacients, and must endure parents boasting about their children. You will think they speak of nothing else. But that is not the worst of it. What does a courtesan do when she has lost her bloom? If she is clever she will make herself a wit among the company who will still have her. But ultimately, she is alone in the end. I cannot imagine you so, Alysia.”

When he finally let go, her shoulders shook with her weeping, and he gathered her in his arms.

Alysia wiped her face. “You make it sound as though I have any choice in the matter. You forget that daughters of courtesans grow up to be courtesans. Whatever fortune I may have is under the care of Lord Courtenay. I am indebted to him, since my own money is apparently insufficient.”

They were both breathing harder, restless with frustration, but at least he was listening. “You may suppose I could choose to be a governess instead? Violet Villier has not faded from public memory, and I resemble her too closely to succeed in changing my name. No family would take me, Drew, and you know it.”

As she gained control over her emotions, she found she resented Andrew’s self-righteous speech. “You may fault me for lacking the courage to strike out on my own, but I know too well what awaits me if I do. So, since I must be a
whore—
” she bristled with satisfaction as he startled at the word, “Forgive me for choosing to do it comfortably. No, Andrew. My greatest fault shall be cowardice.”

“Then take your duke.”

“And betray your sister? If you think I would actually do that, nothing else I have to say matters.”

“Then you will go to Harringer? What has my sister done to earn such loyalty? Does she comprehend your sacrifice, I wonder?

“I will not make myself a martyr to you.”

Silence from Andrew.

“Are you finished berating me? I had better go cut the necks of my gowns lower, if you will excuse me.”

He cupped her face gently this time and put his lips to her ear. “There is another choice. You could be
my
mistress.”

Her mind made a sound like the crash of the waterfall.

“You would betray no one, and I wouldn’t bring cattle or goblets of blood into our bed. Do you know the viscount? I do. He is thought handsome and dashing, but behind closed doors he is disgusting and probably insane, Lisa. All of London knows it; I wonder that my father does not. Take me instead.”

“No. Andrew, I wouldn’t do it to your wife, either.”

“I have no wife.”

“But you shall, and sooner rather than later, I predict.”

“I don’t want to marry.”

She laughed bitterly. “You have no choice in the matter.” With great effort she softened her voice, “Don’t give up on the peerage because of one silly Pomeranian. I assure my lord he shall have his pick among the diamonds of the first water.”

“My friend does not flatter me by implying I am so mercenary as to select a wife solely for her rank and wealth.”

“On the contrary, I wish you the rarest of joys: a loving and affectionate marriage. You can’t have that with a mistress lurking about.”

“Then
you
shall be my wife. That is my only chance of such a marriage.”

“Marvelous,” she retorted. “The future Marquess of Courtenay, tainting generations of noble blood with that of an illegitimate orphan.”

“I do not offer it in jest!”

“And I do not reject the honor of it. Nor am I insensible of—”

“I have loved you all my life, Alysia.”

She paused and closed her eyes, willing herself to look past his searing words to the truth. “What about your duty to family? Your political ambitions? Your business interests? What you desire for yourself doesn’t matter. You are bound to your duty and are no more free than I am.”

He went silent. Only his rough breathing against her neck indicated he had any reaction to her words.

Her anger ebbed, leaving guilt in its place. “I am sorry, Andrew, that was unkind. I was retaliating and didn’t speak the truth. You have at least ten years yet before anyone besides your mother pressures you to marry.” Grazing her fingertips on the back of his neck raised little bumps on his skin. “It won’t be easy to find someone who deserves you, but I believe you shall.”