Page 21 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

W hat had distressed her so much during the interval?

One moment Mimi was trying not to laugh at the suggestion that the unpleasant Miss Francis pleasure herself with a broom, then the next, she was trembling and darting her gaze about like a fox that had spotted a pack of hounds. During the second half of the evening, she occasionally glanced across the crowd of guests, but Alexander saw nobody with whom she was acquainted. Unless…

Unless she recognized a former customer. In which case, they had more to be ashamed of than her.

The urge to ask her swelled in his heart, but he couldn’t bring himself to betray her trust by posing such a question. She did not deserve to be treated like a doxy. He had long since ceased to think of her as such.

As the guests filed into the hallway uttering the usual pleasantries and superlatives about the evening, Alexander and Whitcombe left the ladies in the ballroom while they went in search of their cloaks. Then he spotted Thorpe in conversation with the odious Earl Mayhew.

“Ah, Sawbridge, Whitcombe,” Thorpe said. “An excellent evening, was it not?”

“Very,” Alexander said. “We don’t often see you in London, Mayhew.”

“One must make an appearance for the sake of giving charity to the lower classes,” Mayhew replied.

“Are you in Town long?” Alexander asked.

“I return to the country for Christmas.” Mayhew tilted his head to one side. “I was hoping to see Radham tonight,” he said. “To console him on the loss of his brother. Such a bitter blow, for the sake of a drunken whim, do you not think, Sawbridge?”

Alexander fisted his hands to suppress the rage boiling in his gut. How long must he be punished for what happened to Robert Staines?

“I say, Mayhew, I hardly think that’s called for,” Thorpe said.

“Sawbridge doesn’t mind, do you, old chap?” Mayhew said, fixing his soulless gray gaze on Alexander. “The events of the past, particularly sins, should always be acknowledged.”

“Which they have been, Mayhew,” Alexander said. “Have you acknowledged all your sins? I’ll wager they’re plentiful.”

Mayhew let out a mirthless laugh. “You always were a rum fellow, Sawbridge. Tell me—who is that delectable creature you brought with you tonight?”

“Nobody who’d care to know you .”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mayhew said. “A woman robust enough to hazard an acquaintance with you is to be admired—unless she’s unaware of the fate of Robert Staines.”

“She’s aware of it,” Alexander said.

“Thorpe tells me she’s lately arrived in England,” Mayhew said. “What’s her opinion of London Society?”

“Favorable so far,” Alexander said. “So you can, therefore, understand why I have no wish to introduce you. And if—as you’re trying to say without having the courage to speak outright—I pose a danger to those within my vicinity, you’d be advised to quit it forthwith.”

Mayhew let out a laugh, but his eyes remained cold. Then he inclined his head, wished Thorpe and Whitcombe a pleasant evening, and disappeared into the crowd.

“That was almost an insult,” Thorpe said.

“Only almost ?” Alexander replied. “I must be losing my touch.”

“Did Lady Rex enjoy the concert?” Thorpe asked.

“I believe so.”

“I understand the duchess chose to play Bach at your request. That strikes me as the act of a man in love.”

“I made a request because Lady Rex likes Bach, that’s all. A small gesture.”

“It’s the small gestures that give us away, my friend,” Thorpe said. “Few men are so considerate. More to the point, when have you ever shown such consideration?” Then he grinned. “But it’s not your extraordinary consideration for another person that I wanted to mention,” he said. “As I listened to the music, I found myself once more recalling Baron and Lady King.”

“And they are…?”

“ Were , my friend,” Thorpe said. “Do you not recall my mentioning them at Lady Walton’s ball? It was Lady King who was particularly proficient when it came to Bach.”

“And she’s no longer alive,” Alexander said.

“A tragic story,” Thorpe said. “Baron and Lady King died in a shipwreck, together with their son.”

“Tragic indeed, but I fail to see why you’d take a particular interest in them tonight.”

“They also had a daughter—Jemima.”

“I’ve never heard of her,” Alexander said. “How about you, Whitcombe?”

The duke shook his head.

“Baron King and his family rarely visited London,” Thorpe said. “They traveled abroad, and managed only a small estate in the country.”

“Do you know her, Thorpe?” Whitcombe asked.

“I never met her, but my mother did,” Thorpe replied. “Mother was a guest at a house party at their estate, some fifteen years ago, and she encountered a child—a girl—in the drawing room.”

“And the child was Jemima?”

Thorpe nodded. “Mother said she never forgot her—a precocious little thing who knew a great deal about Bach, and had a fondness for marzipan. She’d hidden in the drawing room to listen to the after-dinner recitals. Mother spotted her, and the child swore her to secrecy.”

“So a precocious girl took advantage of your mother’s kindness,” Alexander said.

“I think Mother felt sorry for her. The girl was a late child—when she was born, her brother was already well into his twenties. There was a rumor at the time that she might have been the result of an illicit liaison. And we both know the impact rumors can have on a person.” Thorpe let out a sigh. “I wonder what became of her?”

“Didn’t she inherit?”

Thorpe shook his head. “The title passed to a cousin, but no provision was made for the girl—I doubt Baron King expected his heir to die with him.”

Alexander folded his arms. “Why are you telling us this?”

“I just wondered…” Thorpe made a random gesture in the air. “It seemed particularly interesting that Lady Rex had such a fondness for Bach, and had spent much of her life overseas. I wondered if she might be a relative. After all, Rex is Latin for—”

He broke off as footsteps approached, and Alexander turned to see Mimi flanked by Duchess Whitcombe and Lady Radham. She stared at Thorpe, open-mouthed. Then she glanced toward Alexander, her eyes glistening with fear.

“Ladies, forgive me for detaining the gentlemen,” Thorpe said. “I fear there’s something of a crush for coats, and unless you enjoy a melee, I’d advise waiting. Now, I must thank our hostess.”

He bowed and disappeared. Shortly after, Westbury’s son appeared, brandishing a number of cloaks.

“Ladies, I hope it’s not too forward of me, but I took the liberty of bringing your cloaks. There’s something of a battle taking place in the hallway.”

Mr. Drayton handed the cloaks to Alexander—all except Mimi’s, which he placed around her shoulders.

“A pleasure to see you, Lady Rex,” he said. “I’m so glad Mama Jeanette extended the invitation to you.”

“As am I,” Mimi said. Mr. Drayton took her hand and kissed it, and she smiled—but the light had gone from her eyes.

“That’s enough of that, young man,” Alexander said, pulling Mimi close and placing a possessive hand on the small of her back. “Shall I take you home?” he asked.

She cast a quick glance in the direction in which Thorpe had gone, and nodded. Then, after they took their leave, Alexander escorted her outside and into his carriage.

The ride back to Grosvenor Square took place in silence. Mimi sat opposite Alexander, focusing her gaze on the window, her eyes wide as if she expected a demon to leap through the glass at any moment. When the carriage rolled to a halt outside number sixteen, they climbed out and he escorted her up the steps. The butler opened the door.

“Welcome home, ma’am. I trust you had a pleasant evening.”

“Very much so, Wheeler, thank you,” she said.

Alexander followed her inside, helped her with her cloak, and handed it to the butler.

“Some tea for me, please, Wheeler,” she said. “And a brandy for His Grace.”

The butler bowed and disappeared into the back of the house, while Mimi strode across the hallway and into the parlor, where a fire was already blazing.

“There was no need to ask your butler to bring me a brandy,” Alexander said.

“I assumed you’d want one before retiring.” She approached the fireplace, plucked a poker from the rack, and began jabbing at the base. The flames flared, illuminating her face with an orange glow, and Alexander’s heart ached at the sorrow in her eyes.

“Did you enjoy the evening?” he asked.

“I enjoyed the music. Duchess Westbury and Lady Radham are very accomplished.”

“There’s no need to exchange pleasantries with me, Mimi. You can trust me with the truth.”

She poked the fire again. “I asked Charles to make sure that the fire in the bedchamber was lit tonight.”

“In your bedchamber?” he asked.

“No—the other one. We can retire there as soon as you’ve had your brandy.”

Guilt gnawed at him at the matter-of-fact way she spoke—as if she’d resigned herself to having to service his physical needs.

But he no longer wanted her to perform a physical service. He wanted her to want him, to take pleasure from being in his bed…

…and to love him.

“Perhaps I should go,” he said.

She turned. “Do you no longer enjoy what you’ve paid for?”

“Mimi, tonight has shown me that I want to spend time with you in places other than the bedroom.”

“Such as over the table? Or…over this?” She gestured toward the chaise longue on which he’d taken her with such vigor that he thought it might collapse under the weight of his frenzied thrusting. His cheeks warmed with shame at the pleasure he’d taken from the act. “Or perhaps up against the wall?” she continued, her voice tightening. “There’s always the garden. For some, the pleasure of rutting outdoors can be most—”

“Stop!” he cried. “You misunderstand me. Can’t you see I want more than just sexual gratification?”

As he spoke, the young footman appeared, and he almost dropped the tray he carried. Alexander rushed toward him and grasped the tray, but a teacup rolled off and shattered on the floor.

“Beg pardon, ma’am!” the footman cried, his face going as red as fire.

“It matters not, Charles,” Alexander said. “I’ll clear it up. After all, it’s a mess of my making.”

The footman fled, closing the door behind him. Alexander set the tray on a table and picked up the shards of porcelain. Then he met Mimi’s gaze, and his heart ached at the pain in her eyes. But he knew not how to ease it. Something had shattered her peace tonight—but he had no right to ask her what, if she couldn’t bring herself to trust him.

“Mimi, didn’t tonight show you that there’s more to what we have than…”

“Sex?”

“There’s more to life—to us —than sexual gratification,” he said. “You know it. I see it in your eyes.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To know you,” he said quietly. “ Really know you. Who you are—what you care for. Whom you love…”

She blinked, and a tear splashed onto her cheek. He approached her and placed his hand on her face, and she leaned into his touch as he brushed the tear away.

“Teach me to be something other than I am,” he said. “Teach me to be better so that I might be worthy of you.”

“How?” she whispered.

“Show me the world as you see it.”

She closed her eyes as her chest rose and fell in a sigh. He waited, a sinner anticipating his fate—condemnation, or redemption.

At length, she opened her eyes.

“Very well,” she said. “If you truly wish to see the world through my eyes, I’ll show you. Spend a day in my shoes, and we’ll see if you want more. Come on Tuesday.”

“Thank you.” He drew her close for a kiss, but, as usual, she turned her head aside and his lips brushed against her forehead.

His manhood strained in his breeches as he fought the urge to sweep her into his arms, carry her upstairs, and claim her, and his cheeks warmed with guilt as she lowered her gaze to the bulge in breeches. But if he were to woo her, he must forget the desires of the rake, and act in accordance with the principles of the gallant suitor. He took her hand and bowed over it.

“Until Tuesday,” he said.

“Six in the morning.”

He winced, and her lips quirked into a smile, but he nodded.

“Six it is.”

Then he exited the parlor, leaving the woman he desired more than anything else—the woman he’d bought and paid for, though he was ashamed for having done so—and stepped out into the night.