Page 5

A s Alice made her way to the assignment Lord Wakefield had doled out that apparently took precedence over the Earl of Dynevor’s orders, her heart raced.

Certainly, it was not frustration at the change in directions.

Having multiple employers, she often found herself pulled in different directions.

Given the current living quarters for patrons in residence was currently usable space that had already been largely completed with the exception of the finishing touches, it did make sense that if the situation called for it, she be moved here in the interim.

Yet her mind couldn’t get past one thought.

Laurence is here.

She couldn’t have been more stunned had the Lord himself returned and stood before her in the flesh. She’d been cut off from her family so long in self-imposed isolation that it had become second nature not to see them or think of them. It was easier that way.

In the immediacy of her decision to exile from the family, she’d been aggrieved for fourteen days straight.

She had cried. She’d mourned their loss.

She’d missed them. She’d wanted to return and decide that family reputation and everyone else be damned.

Alice told herself she wanted to be with them more than anything, and that should have mattered most. But she hadn’t gone back to them because she wasn’t selfish.

Then, after a fortnight, the pain, though it hadn’t faded completely, had become dulled. It was as though fourteen days and nights marked the period in which a person could come to an acceptance that they would not see their family. And what remained was what was in front of one.

In Alice’s case now, that was the Devil’s Den, her new place of employment and home—and her daughter when she had Laurel.

Laurel.

Alice stopped in her tracks, so quick her sapphire muslin uniform and painting apron fluttered and snapped about her ankles. She closed her eyes.

Her daughter. The sole reason she’d given up the siblings and mother she loved, and the homes she’d grown up in, was because and for Laurel.

She’d been born of Alice’s greatest and worst mistake, and from that mistake, Alice had been granted the greatest and grandest gift.

Being able to openly claim Laurel as her daughter and live with her without fear for their reputations or recriminations from a judgmental high society—who made every other person’s life and business their own—she’d found peace here.

She missed her family and loved them. But she had her daughter, and she loved her most. Those two worlds, her past with the Mastersons and her present and future with Laurel, could never be separated, but neither could they be entwined.

She’d come to accept that and understand it. The two worlds could never mingle.

But now, Laurence was here. Laurence now shared the same roof, if even just periodically while he came to sin at the Devil’s Den. He shared the same walls and roof as Alice…and, against his knowing, Alice’s daughter.

Seeing him had resurrected all those same feelings she’d had the first fortnight she’d spent in the Devil’s Den.

That had been lifetime ago. Seeing him was dangerous for the risk it posed, and for all the feelings he stirred inside.

Being with him was comfortable, and right, and fun.

She’d forgotten what it was to be like with him, to be herself.

Not even with the treacherous scoundrel she’d given her virtue and heart to had she truly been herself.

With Laurence, she’d been able to be that and more.

He wasn’t her brother, who served more of a fatherly role.

Oh, Laurence had teased her just the same as any brother, but she’d been able to confide in him and share with him, to enjoy his company without feeling fathered or brothered or lectured.

With him, he’d always felt an equal. He’d treated her that way. Now he was here.

“I am sorry I had you taken away from Dynevor’s assignment for you.”

Gasping, her heart startling, Alice spun.

The Earl of Wakefield stood there stoic as he always was, barely smiling.

He was a serious fellow. It seemed like that was the way of everyone in this place—somber.

Everything and everyone who had been brought together here, be it proprietor or staff member, had all come for personal reasons, secret to their own selves.

“My lord,” she murmured, dropping a curtsy.

He bowed in return.

She’d been familiar with Wakefield during her time amongst polite society. He always was unfailingly polite, respectful, and respectable, and that hadn’t changed with his being here at the Devil’s Den.

He bowed to all the women, regardless of whether they’d been born on the streets, worked on their backs, or, in Alice’s case, had a baby out of wedlock and lived husbandless here.

“No apologies, my lord, I understand the establishment is undergoing renovations and growth. And as such, I’m expected and understand that flexibility is required of my role.”

He motioned to the chamber doors.

“This wing’s been newly completed, though not fully finished. We have several new patrons who have been on a waiting list for suites, and this is the closest we have to fully restored. It is our hope that they will be fully completed and occupied within a fortnight.”

A fortnight.

That meant she needed to complete and add the finishing touches to the work she’d already begun in this area. And start fresh on the additional rooms the proprietors had just added to the floor.

“While I’m working?”

“The floors will not be occupied by all those on the list. Exceptions may be permitted and only then if the risk of their seeking our membership at Forbidden Pleasures or Lucifer’s Lair proves a threat.

In which case, you’ll need to be working on these halls while they are occupied.

However, the arrangements will be carefully coordinated so that you needn’t interact with anyone who is on this floor. ”

Alice nodded. Either way, she wasn’t fearful in the least. Some lofty lord who entered these rooms and chanced upon her painting here would never in one-thousand million years see the polite Marquess of Exmoor’s long-lost, missing sister here at work.

They’d simply see a woman born of a different class with cropped hair and uniform attire.

“I want all your attention here.” Wakefield gestured to the door next to him. “You are to make these quarters your priority.”

Alice nodded. “It will be done.”

It would be done. It would take her more time than she cared to think about. And it meant less time she had with Laurel. She had to forcibly tamp down her disappointment.

“I understand,” Wakefield said gently, “your clever assistant, Miss Laurel, might be of service to you at times as you complete the project. She has quite a way with the brush.”

Relief and so much gratitude swarmed Alice and threatened to bring her to her knees. Emotion filled her throat. This was why she needed to be here. These people understood. They didn’t keep her daughter from her. No. If anything, they went out of their way to be sure she had time with Laurel.

“Thank y—”

Lord Wakefield lifted a gloved palm in response to her thick, emotion-filled response. He cut off her thanks.

“Thank you for all your efforts,” he said quietly. “I will leave you to your work, Alice.”

With that, the earl bowed, she curtsied.

When Wakefield left, Alice pondered her latest space.

When she had a room to herself and the unlimited possibilities in a new project before her, she was at her happiest. For a husband-less, mother who worked, and didn’t have the support of a nursemaid, quiet time for oneself was as rare as the gold at the end of a rainbow.

These precious moments belonged to Alice, and in them, she lost herself in the freedom of her own mind and spirit.

This time, seated at her art table, marked an exception. She stared distractedly at the empty page in her sketchpad. She tapped the pencil tip over and over, drumming it over and over.

The ornate King Louis XIV cartel clock ticked the passing seconds; each beat mocking Alice for the black spot in her head.

She stared at the sheet until her eyes went crossed. Why couldn’t see find something to inspire her?

You know.

Laurence.

“Stop it,” she muttered, forcing herself to begin drawing something, anything . Alice sketched and sketched, and then when she’d finally selected a subject, found herself in front of her blank canvas and painting.

At last, she lost herself.

For a long—but not long enough—moment.

As engrossed as she was, she failed to hear the door open and close and as a person joined her. She felt him before she heard him.

“Alice.”

Her eyes squinting at the white wall, she stiffened and all her nerves came alive.

A tingle traversed her neck and ran along her spine, a sense of heat and awareness. She turned. Not for the first time that day, her breath caught as she looked upon the man who brought her past where it shouldn’t be.

It appeared she’d been wrong. She was destined to meet him again.

And, dangerously, she was so very glad for having a second chance to meet with him.

“Laurence,” she greeted softly.