Page 104

CHAPTER TWO

At exactly six o’clock, the bell rang and Lord Ambrose entered. Alone. Des looked up from her sewing and smiled.

“My lord, right on time.” She set her project aside and picked up a box tied with bright pink ribbon. “Your friend prefers pinks, so I thought this would be a nice touch.”

Ambrose took a billfold from his coat pocket and pulled out several bills. “This should be enough, but if not, just let me know.” Picking up the box, he asked, “Have you started on the rest of Mrs. Bowmar’s order?”

“I had planned on starting on it in the morning,” she said, “but if you would prefer--”

“No, that will be perfect.” He paused momentarily, then said, “Actually, if you would wait to hear from me before starting her gowns. I’ll send word in the morning one way or the other.”

“Sir?” she asked curiously.

“Just wait until I give you leave to begin.” He took out his pocket watch, glancing at the time. “Still a bit early, I think,” he said to no one in particular.

Des offered, “I was going to have a cup of tea before starting my night work, if you’d like to join me.”

Ambrose studied her a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I believe I would enjoy a cup. Or something stronger if you have it.”

“Just tea, my lord. Madame locks the spirits up when there are no patrons about.” She went to the back and brought out a battered tea service and a small plate of biscuits on an old wooden tray, and set them on the table he’d occupied earlier that day.

He lowered himself into the opposite chair as she poured.

“You do that well,” he said, then added, ‘pouring the tea, that is.”

She moved with a grace even his sisters had yet to master; she could be pouring tea for the queen.

Setting his cup in front of him, she said, “My mother thought I should know proper manners and etiquette, since I’d be dealing with gentry.

My father wanted me well educated.” She set the pot aside and offered the plate of biscuits to him. “So they sent me to boarding school.”

He took a sip of his tea. “Do they approve of you working in a shop,” he paused… “Or rather this shop with Madame and her clientele?”

“They really have no choice,” she answered quietly. “It’s not as if I have other shops bidding to employ me.” She took a long swallow of tea. “Though, if Father had his way, I’d be married already and would have given him a grandson or two.”

“All fathers are like that,” Ambrose nodded. “My father has been hounding me for the last year or so to marry and start filling my nursery. My brother has already married, but no children yet. He’s now concentrating his efforts getting my younger brother and I married off.”

“But for all your grousing, you must get along well with your father,” she noted.

He grinned. “I do.”

“As do I,” she replied. “They mean well, I suppose.”

He nodded. “What would you do if you had your choice?”

“My dream is to sew for a theatre company, but those jobs are very scarce and less than respectable.” She shrugged.

“I suppose I would have my own shop, perhaps design the gowns as opposed to sewing other people’s creations.

” She nodded at the package next to him.

“That is one of my own design. I hope your friend likes it.”

“I’m sure she will,” he said smoothly.

She asked, “What about you, my lord, if you had your choice?”

“Travel, I suppose. I took my grand tour, of course, but would like to visit Canada, or perhaps India or South America.” He gave her a crooked smile. “No one has ever asked me before.”

“But I am certain you have thought about it,” she said shyly. “After all, a man in your position has a great deal more opportunities than someone like me.”

“True,” he agreed, “but I wonder with all the responsibilities and expectations of my position, if you have a bit more freedom than I.”

“Each has its own type of freedom, I suppose,” she said, glancing at him over her teacup.

They finished their tea in companionable silence, nibbling biscuits absently. Then setting his cup aside, he scooped up the package. “I’ve taken up too much of your time, Miss…”

“Oldstone, my lord.”

He took her hand and bowed over it. “Thank you for the tea and conversation, Miss Oldstone.”

“It was my great pleasure, my lord.” She stood and curtsied to him then smiled as he tipped his hat before exiting the shop.”

Ambrose took the stairs to the townhome two at a time, sounding the knocker softly. He didn’t want to alert his mistress, just the staff. The door opened and Adams, the butler, stood in shock. “My lord?”

“Is Mrs. Bowmar in?” Ambrose asked, already knowing the answer, judging by the look on the older man’s face.

“Yes, my lord, but--” he stammered.

“Good, I’ll show myself up,” Ambrose said, pushing past him, taking the staircase quickly. He got to the door of Alice’s boudoir, grasping the doorknob and twisting it, already aware of what he would encounter.

In the bed, Alice turned to the door, snarling, “I thought I told you…” Her voice died as her eyes went wide. She was naked, straddling an equally naked man, who grasped at her hips, thrusting up into her body. “Ambrose…” she breathed.

Ambrose cocked an eyebrow at her, leaning in the doorframe.

“I came to surprise you, my dear.” He turned his attention to the man who was now scrambling away from her.

“Carrow?” he said, with seeming disappointment.

The baron’s son grabbed his breeches and struggled into them.

Turning his attention back to Alice, he shook his head. “Really, my dear?”

She stared back at him, gasping, “Ambrose… I can explain…”

“Can you now?” he asked, amused. Folding his arms across his chest, he said “Try.”

She grabbed at her dressing gown. “You weren’t supposed to be here…” she started.

“And you decided to amuse yourself.” He huffed.

“I came to bring you a gift,” he said, holding up the box, “but instead, I’ll give you a boon.

” Walking to the sideboard, he set the box down and poured himself a glass of brandy.

“I’ll give you until I finish my drink to pack a bag and get out of this house.

Any longer, I’ll toss you from the premises myself.

” He pulled a chair over and turned it to face the room.

Taking his seat, he began to drink while Carrow grabbed the rest of his clothing and ran from the room.

Alice’s eyes went from wide-eyed to narrow with spite. “I hate you!” she hissed, tying her robe closed before storming over to him. She slapped him once, then attempted to strike again.

He grasped her wrist. “I’m halfway through my glass, my dear.”

“You cannot toss me out! You promised this place to me!” she shouted.

“And you promised me loyalty, which is what I demand from all my employees. You broke our bargain, not me.” He swirled his brandy in the glass before taking in the last of it.

“And you are out of time.” Setting the glass aside, he stood, still gripping her wrist and started dragging her from the room.

The bracelet was still on her wrist and he touched it gently.

“Perhaps Carrow will let you warm his bed tonight.”

“Unhand me!” she said, struggling away from him.

He picked her up and carried her down the staircase, then across the foyer.

“Ambrose, please!” she pleaded, grabbing his arm as he lowered her to the floor, “I was just lonely! You know you are the only one that matters to me.” She curled her free hand around the lapel of his coat, pulling herself in front of him.

“Don’t do this to me, my love. To us…” she ran her fingers down his cheek.

“I will make it up to you, I promise.” she purred.

He took her other hand and smiled down on her. “Oh, Alice,” he whispered. “You’re a passable actress, but you cannot lie to me.” He captured both wrists in one of his hands and turned her around. Nodding to the butler, he walked her to the now open door.

“You will regret this,” she spat at him.

“Perhaps,” he said, “but not as much as you will.” He pushed her out the door and slammed the door on her screams. Heading back upstairs to the rooms where she had given him so much pleasure, he surveyed the remains.

He would have her things packed in the morning and take all the gems back to be reset into another set of jewels for his next mistress.

Or perhaps something more demure, appropriate for his twin sisters as gifts for their come out next season.

Either way, he’d still need to find a new mistress.

He retrieved his glass and poured another drink, glancing at the box he’d brought with him.

He picked up the package, setting it on the bed and lifting off the top to reveal a swath of blue silk wrapped in tissue.

Hooking his fingertips through the thin silk straps, he drew the garment out of the box, Letting out a low whistle.

Whomever wore this would be an embodiment of sin. A light rose scent wafted from the garment, enhancing the allure. He rubbed the lacy edges, surprised at the feathery softness. Poor Alice, he mused. Perhaps he should have let her put it on before throwing her out.

Folding it back into the box, he wondered what to do with it.

Alice didn’t deserve it, and he could not guarantee his new mistress would fit it.

He toyed with the idea of holding it up to any candidates; if they fit the gown, they could warm his bed.

While he knew many women of that persuasion would not balk at such a requirement, he knew he’d never do it.

Would it fit the shopgirl, what was her name?

Miss Oldstone. He pictured the young woman in this gown and felt himself harden.

Would her bosom swell above the lacy bodice, would the silk cling to her skin, tempting him to touch?

Would the sheer insets show pearly white or peachy gold glimpses of skin?

And how long would it take for the gown to puddle to the floor when he slipped it off her body?

He inhaled the rose fragrance again. Then opening his eyes, he adjusted himself, then instead, began unbuttoning the placket of his breeches as he went to shut the door. It wouldn’t be the first time he took himself in hand, but hopefully, it would be the last for the next few months.