Page 15 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

M imi drove her needle into the hem of the gown, then pulled the thread through. She repeated the gesture and her mind drifted, no matter how hard she tried to banish him from her thoughts.

The Duke of Sawbridge.

Less than a month into their arrangement, she had almost succumbed to the temptation to let him kiss her.

Pleasure had been within her grasp. But pleasure was like laudanum—it soothed the ache, but with each application, the ache returned, more potent than before, until the craving became a need for survival, a dependency that would ultimately destroy her.

She had no intention to draw pleasure from their coupling, but she could no longer deny her professional pride at his groans of ecstasy while she rode him—or while he rutted her in the parlor in full view of the street outside, the danger heightening his pleasure, evident in the short, sharp puffs as he came to completion.

But despite his evident physical satisfaction, disappointment gleamed in his eyes when she turned her lips from him.

Oh, Sawbridge, if only you knew how greatly my own disappointment surpasses yours.

She was standing on a precipice—at the brink of her own destruction. The slightest transgression into pleasure and she would plunge into the abyss.

But she couldn’t silence the voice in her mind that whispered of the prospect of taking her pleasure with him.

Alexander…

Her gut twisted with shame, even though she hadn’t spoken his name aloud. What might it be like to cry out his name as he cried out hers?

But his name was denied her. As was her pleasure at his touch. Her release at her own hand was all she could risk—to relieve the ache in her bones.

She denied them both—his name, and her pleasure—for the safety of her soul.

But she couldn’t help imagine what it might be like to have his mouth claim hers, his tongue slip between—

“Mimi!”

She startled and glanced up from her mending to see Mrs. Briggs and her companions—Anna and Mary—staring at her.

“I beg pardon?” Mimi asked.

Mrs. Briggs shook her head. “You were gone from us just then, darlin’. Anything troublin’ you? You don’t seem yourself today.”

“N-no, I’m just struggling a little with this mending.”

Mrs. Briggs narrowed her eyes as the lie hung heavy in the air. Then she nodded.

“Anna, darlin’, could you see to the tea? Don’t forget the cake Mimi brought—we’ve all earned a slice with our work this morning. Mary, look in on Lily and her little ’un to see if they’d like to join us.”

“But Mrs. Briggs,” Mary began, “Lily’s still very—”

“Do as ye’re told. I’m sure young Sam would like some cake.”

The two young women set their mending aside and exited the room, then Mrs. Briggs leaned forward.

“You can be honest with me now, Mimi darlin’. Tell me about him.”

There was little point asking to whom she was referring.

“There’s little to tell,” Mimi said. “He’s paying me a stipend until next summer, then we’ll part company.”

The other woman let out a sharp sigh. “I didn’t mean your agreement. Tell me about the man.”

“He has a title,” Mimi said. “And wealth.”

“There’s something more,” Mrs. Briggs said. “Is he kind?”

Mimi paused. Outwardly Alexander was not kind—neither, from what she had seen, was he particularly liked for himself. At most times he wore the soulless expression of yet another man who believed she belonged to him because he paid for her services. Yet, on occasion, she glimpsed something more—a vulnerability he was afraid to reveal. When he claimed her body, she sensed a need greater than mere physical gratification. She saw a soul—alone and isolated—yearning to be touched, calling to her…

Mrs. Briggs sighed. “Oh, darlin’, don’t fall for it.”

“Fall for what?” Mimi asked.

“The little lost boy act. You’re experienced enough in our world to know that all men are children at heart—longing for attention, indulging in their tempers if they can’t get their way, and tossing their playthings aside when they’ve no further use for them. Don’t become his plaything, Mimi. It will destroy you. He will destroy you.”

“You don’t know him, Mrs. Briggs.”

“Aye, and if you’re falling under his spell I’ve no wish to meet him, unless it’s to thicken his ear.”

“I’m not falling under his spell.”

Mrs. Briggs folded her arms in the manner of a governess about to lecture her stubborn pupil. “You haven’t kissed him, have you?”

“No!” Mimi said. “I-I’ve not kissed any man since…since I first took to the streets. I understand the danger.”

“Make sure you do, darlin’.” Mrs. Briggs took Mimi’s hand. “I only speak out of fondness for you. You never want to be dependent on a man, do you?”

“No,” Mimi said, gritting her teeth as the image of another man resurfaced—and the very thought of him sent a ripple of nausea and fear through her. “I never want to be dependent on a man.”

The door opened and Anna and Mary returned with the tea things. A third woman accompanied them, with a child clinging to her skirts.

She let out a small cry as she spotted Mimi.

“Now, Lily, what did I tell you last night?” Mrs. Briggs said. “Mimi won’t hurt you. She’s our friend. She’s even been helping with the hem of your dress. See?” She nodded to the garment on Mimi’s lap.

“I’m sorry, Lily,” Mimi said, holding out the gown. “I didn’t know it was your dress. Would you like it back?”

Lily turned her expressive eyes—that looked huge in her pale, thin face—toward Mimi. Then she glanced at Mrs. Briggs as if seeking permission.

“Go on, Lily darlin’, she won’t hurt you,” Mrs. Briggs said. She turned toward Mimi. “Lily’s been working on the other gown you’ve got there—see that lacework? The work on the bodice is all hers.”

Mimi picked up the other gown. The top half of the bodice was covered in embroidery, delicate stitches forming an intricate pattern—swirls of leaves and flowers, each with a tiny knot at the center.

The work was finer than anything Mimi had ever seen—all the more for having been fashioned from plain cotton, not expensive silks, nor the shiny beads that often adorned the gowns of countesses and duchesses. The quality of the work spoke for itself, rather than letting the expense of the materials speak for it.

The child released his grip on Lily’s skirts and toddled toward Mimi, arms outstretched.

“Sam!” Lily let out a cry as the child lost his balance and toppled forward, but Mimi swept him up into her arms.

“Who do we have here?” she cooed. “A fine young man, indeed.”

The child squealed with delight as Mimi bounced him on her knee.

“Are you taking care of your mama?”

“Ma-ma!” The boy pointed toward Lily.

“Yes, that’s your mama,” Mimi said, “and she’s taking good care of you. If you promise to return the favor, you can have some cake.”

Lily glanced toward the tea tray.

“Does your boy like cake?” Mimi asked.

Lily flinched.

“Do you like cake, Lily?”

Lily lowered her gaze to the floor.

“Answer her,” Anna said, not unkindly.

“Lily’s all right, Anna,” Mimi said. “There’s plenty of time, isn’t there, Lily? No need to speak right away. Anna, would you be kind enough to pour me a cup and cut some cake for me?” She stroked the child’s cheek. “You can share my cake, Sam, and tell me what you think of it—that is, if your mama doesn’t object.”

Mary opened her mouth to address Lily, but Mimi frowned and shook her head, and Mary closed it again, while Anna busied herself with the tea and sliced the cake.

“I-I’ve not…” Lily hesitated, glancing toward Mrs. Briggs, who nodded encouragement. “I’ve not had cake before,” she said. “Neither has Sammy.”

“Then I hope you’ll take a slice,” Mimi said. “I didn’t bake it myself, I’m afraid. I was never any good at that, and nor am I accomplished at sewing. Unlike you—where did you learn such exquisite skill?”

Lily’s expression shuttered again, and Mimi cursed her forwardness.

“Come sit here, Lily darlin’,” Mrs. Briggs said, patting the seat next to her. Lily approached her, and as she sat, Mrs. Briggs whispered, “You’re doing very well.”

Lily took her cup, which rattled against the saucer. Then she took a bite of cake.

“Do you like it?” Mimi asked.

Lily nodded. “Y-yes. Thank you, Mrs.…?”

“Call me Mimi. We’re all friends here.”

A slow smile crept across Lily’s lips, and Mrs. Briggs whispered another “well done” before cutting herself a slice of cake.

Anna and Mary began to chatter—inanities about sewing and the weather, but the benign conversation served its purpose. The stiffness in Lily’s body disappeared as she leaned back and finished her cake. Her gaze continually wandered across the parlor as Mimi kept Sam occupied with a piece of rag from the mending basket, showing him how to tie it into a bow.

“Perhaps next time I come, Sam, I’ll bring some paper to make you a toy boat with,” Mimi said. “How about that?” The boy grinned as Mimi tickled him under the chin. “We can even set sail with it,” she said. “Launch it in the water, like a real ship.”

“No!” Lily cried. “Not outside—please!”

“Careful, darlin’,” Mrs. Briggs said, placing a hand on Lily’s arm. “You don’t have to go outside if you don’t want to.”

“We can set sail in the kitchen,” Mimi said, “make a lake out of a bucket with water.”

“See?” Mrs. Briggs said, taking Lily’s hand.

Lily nodded, then set her teacup aside and glanced toward the door. “Perhaps I ought to…”

“Why don’t you stay with us while we’re mending?” Mrs. Briggs said. “You can show Mimi here how to embroider a flower. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.” She glanced at Mimi, a plea in her eyes.

“Oh yes,” Mimi said. “I must improve my skills. You’d be helping me a great deal.”

“Would I?” Lily asked, her eyes widening further.

“Here,” Anna said. “Let me take Sammy while you help Mimi. I can’t think how we managed with this sewing before you came here, Lily.” She plucked the boy from Mimi’s arms and gave her a nod.

So much could be said without saying it! But unlike those ladies at Madame Deliet’s, whose carefully worded phrases were intended to insult Mimi, the women here, in Mrs. Briggs’s safe little corner of the world, sought to reassure Lily that she was valued, appreciated, and—above all—safe.

After a whispered word from Mrs. Briggs, Lily moved across to sit beside Mimi. Then she took the dress and began to embroider the bodice. At length, her body relaxed as she focused on her work, and Mimi glanced up to see Mrs. Briggs smiling, her eyes shining with moisture, as if Mimi had worked a miracle.

But it was Mrs. Briggs who had given Lily a purpose.

And, as she watched Lily’s needle fly in and out and the image of a flower take form, Mimi’s dream began to take shape. Imagine what exquisite creations Lily could make were she given the means—such as the beautiful silks at Eleanor’s disposal! And Eleanor had expressed an interest in helping Mimi’s cause—though Lily would doubtless faint at the prospect of being in the company of a duchess.

Mrs. Briggs had enabled these young women to survive. But, with the fortune from her arrangement with Sawbridge, Mimi could help them to thrive .

When the sun had almost disappeared beneath the horizon, Mimi stretched her limbs then tidied up her work and bade goodbye to her friends. Her back ached, but the walk to Grosvenor Square would ease the stiffness. By the time she turned into the square, the ache had all but gone.

Her heart soaring with newfound purpose, she almost skipped along the pavement toward her house. Then she glanced at the door and froze.

A huge male form stood in the doorway.

“Y-Your Grace,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

Alexander arched an eyebrow, then cast his gaze over her form, taking in the rough woolen cloak, the plain gown, and the thick boots with the scuff on the toes. His nostrils flared, and he set his mouth into a thin line.

“Evidently not.”

“Have I done anything to offend you?”

He let out a bark of laughter. “She asks if she’s done anything to offend me?” he sneered. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”

“I don’t take you for a fool,” she said. “I—”

“Spare me the pretense!” he snarled. “I already know what kind of fool I am. But no more, madam. No more. I know exactly who—and what—you are.”

He stepped closer, and her senses were almost overpowered by his male scent—woodsy and spicy. But as she lifted her gaze to his eyes, her blood froze. Though they glittered in the moonlight, there was not a trace of desire in them.

Only bitterness—and disgust.