“I thought we would have the tea in the front room,” he said, his voice a low rumble that she felt in her belly.
She nodded, unable to speak. Then it became clear that he was waiting for her to precede him, so she rushed ahead, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to move. She collapsed back into the settee, barely holding on to her dignity as he set the tray down. His movements were smooth, his expression blank. One would think he had spent years as a butler, so impassive was his expression. But then he sat down in the chair again and looked at her.
“Should I pour?”
“Oh! No!” Damn her scattered wits. She needed to think. “Cream? Sugar?” she asked, grateful that her voice had regained some strength.
“Just sugar.”
She finished pouring, then offered it to him. He took it without touching her fingertips, and she stupidly mourned the lack of his caress even though she had expressly set her hand such that he would not touch her. Then she poured for herself and was soon able to take a fortifying sip of the plain tea. He had made it strong, which bolstered her even more. There was no subtlety in the flavor, no fruity or floral notes. Simple English tea, and it reminded her more than anything that she was meant for plain things. Expensive teas, sheer scarves, and silk sheets were the distractions men used to get what they wanted. And as intriguing as the idea was, she had no room in her life for such things. The cost was too high.
She was still settling her nerves when he spoke, his words gentle and wholly unexpected.
“What is your Christian name?” he asked. The question was so surprising that she lifted her eyes in surprise.
“Helaine,” she said, forgetting herself enough to give him her real name. When pressed, Mrs. Mortimer told everyone her name was Helen.
“A beautiful name. Mine is Robert.”
She nodded in acknowledgment, though she would never call him that.
“I have handled this incorrectly, Helaine, but the desire remains. I should like you to be my mistress.”
“And I desire to be an honest dressmaker who isn’t constantly accosted.” She did not invest her words with anger. She simply stated it and prayed he would hear her.
He did understand her implication. His wince was proof of that. But that didn’t stop him from pleading his case. “I am a slow lover, Helaine, patient and generally considerate. And though I have never taken a virgin, I would make an exception for you. I would introduce you correctly to this business. And would pay handsomely for the privilege.”
He paused, but when she didn’t speak, he leaned forward. She could tell he meant to touch her hands, but she kept herself firmly away. Despite her aloof position, his words were tempting her, especially as he continued to speak in that low, throaty voice that seemed to settle into her bones.
“We could make whatever arrangements you desire, though I do ask that my sister not find out.”
“Oh, no!” she gasped, horrified by the very idea.
He gave her a wry look. “I see we are in agreement on that. My demands would not be heavy, and I can let rooms nearby for our use. It might take me a bit to get all arranged. The financials can be slow sometimes, but I will pay. Forgive me for being blunt, Helaine, but are you a virgin?”
Her cheeks flamed at that, but she managed to nod.
“Do not be embarrassed. Virginity is an excellent thing. And the usual price for it is rather exorbitant.” He named a figure that would easily cover her expenses for months. One that would pay for enough fabric for a dozen trousseaus. “I would give that to you on our first night. Then you would have a monthly allowance afterward. And when we separate, that money plus any gifts would be yours to keep.”
She knew she was staring at him, the shock apparent in every line of her body. This was the strangest conversation she’d ever had. Did all men simply arrange their sexual affairs in such a businesslike fashion? Apparently so. Probably because plain speaking was best for this sort of thing. But she couldn’t help wishing for some pretty phrases, some wooing before the deed was done.
He must have taken her silence as agreement. He must have believed he had accomplished his task, because he smiled at her then. The expression transformed him from cool aristocrat to a satisfied man, much like her father after a really excellent night of drinking.
“What say you, Helaine? Have we made a bargain?” From his tone, she could tell he expected her to say yes. She didn’t.
She shook her head. “I am a dressmaker, my lord. I am afraid my skills for anything else are sorely lacking.”
His eyes seemed to glitter at that, and she couldn’t tell if it was laughter or anticipation. Either way, it added to the feel of a man very content with his lot. “I assure you, a lack of skill is expected in a virgin. And you may be a dressmaker, but you are also a beautiful woman. One, I might add, who has advertised herself as a man’s mistress for quite some time. You lose nothing by becoming one in truth and have much to gain.”
“What do I gain, my lord? Money? A protector?”
“All of those things.”
“And what if I don’t want them?”
He arched a single eyebrow. “But you do need them. Money most certainly, but also a protector. Otherwise you would not have played the game with Lord Metzger.”
He had her there. “But what if I don’t want it?”
“That also is patently false. Do you deny it?”
She couldn’t deny it, but her pride made her press her lips together. She’d be damned if she admitted it. He was becoming much too sure of himself, too certain of her, and she didn’t like it. So she leaned back on the settee and crossed her arms. She was well aware of what the action did to her breasts, lifting them up such that her cleavage was on display. As expected, his gaze dropped straight to her chest. But of course, she was equally the fool here because at his intense stare, her blood heated, her nipples tightened, and she began to think of saying yes. So she forced the denial out quickly before she could change her mind.
“My life is different now than when I made my bargain with Lord Metzger. I am not alone anymore. I have a shop that I love, people who care for me—”
“And Johnny Bono fondling you between a bolt of muslin and a crate of onions. Do not think I have forgotten about that. Indeed, just say yes and your difficulties with that character will end.”
“I would be simply trading one man for another. One type of abuse for another.”
Her words were a challenge to him, but she never anticipated how much. His mouth tightened and his eyes glittered cold with fury. “Never suggest he and I are of the same cloth, Helaine.”
Honesty forced her to admit the truth, but her pride kept her from making it an apology. “Not of the same cloth certainly, but of the same intent.”
“I will never force you.”
“You merely point out my vulnerabilities, and offer to save me from them one by one.”
He nodded. “That is what men do, is it not? They save their women from danger.”
There it was. The last piece she needed to strengthen her spine and convince her to say no. He had no idea how hard she had fought for her independence. For her room above the shop, for a purpose and profession that brought money to her. Money that was hers and hers alone. She still feared debtors’ prison, but for now, she would not trade her independence away.
“You forget that I have no need of rescuing. Ladies come to my door every day asking for my dresses. And as for Mr. Bono, I have handled his attentions for years now; I shall undoubtedly continue to manage for many years to come. So you may keep your money and your rooms. I am quite content as I am.”
“Really?” he drawled, the word a sensuous caress that throbbed deep in her belly. “And what of pleasure?”