Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Do not bother yourself, Yvette. I will fetch paper from his lordship’s desk.”

Lady Tippit required a full-fledged reply. No hastily scrawled missive for her ladyship.

A letter lay on the desk.

His writing.

She should not look. She should tuck it securely under the blotter and walk away. But she did not.

Nora,

The word held her as surely as if she had been snapped in a trap.

I cannot get away as planned, but you must see the portrait. After all, you bore with me through thick and thin. I think you will approve. It was painted from the heart, and I trust my love shows through. It must, for I believe it is my best work yet. I have never been so inspired.

I dare not let my Owl see. Not until it is hung and there can be no going back. It will likely be a shock to her, but I cannot help that. Indeed I am hoping it will be just the ticket to let us begin anew.

I will meet you at twelve noon tomorrow. Call me egotistical, but I want to be there when you see it.

I know you have lost your key, silly chit. I have left a new one above the doorsill on the right. I did not like the shady character I have seen lurking about. You should be careful as well. I look forward to the time when neither of us has to keep secrets.

Dev

A fat tear dropped not a hair’s breadth from the salutation. She quickly moved the paper just as another fell. The letters swam before her glazed vision. She dashed her arm against her eyes and then fled from the room.

Only to collide with someone. Margaret.

“My dear, Anne, what has you so upset?”

She shook her head, her throat full and throbbing. She must get away.

“Oh dear, you must have found out.”

A hideous sob escaped. Horrified, she covered her mouth.

“Come, my dear,” Margaret ushered Anne into her bedchamber. “Higgins, you may fetch tea.”

She tried to tell Margaret she needn’t bother. She would surely choke.

“Sit, my dear. Heavens, your hands are ice. Now, there.” Margaret settled a shawl around her shaking shoulders. “These men…well, they will be men. It is best to find out sooner than later, Anne dearest. No use deluding yourself. This way you know the way of things before you build up too many hopes.”

Margaret sat heavily in the chair opposite. “Once married, we are nothing but breeding vessels. Indeed, I think Lord Austin had his—woman—installed as soon as the marriage lines were read. Most likely he never gave her up to begin with.” Margaret smoothed her hand over her rounded belly. “Frankly, I am just as happy. The marriage bed is a disgusting business.”

The room had a roaring fire, yet she felt as if her bones were frozen against her skin—one move and she would break.

“I did think of telling you of the assignations, but Lord Austin forbade me. He loves his brother, and he wants him to have a bit of happi—”

Too much. The shawl fell to the floor as she lurched to her feet.

“Anne. Oh, dear, I am sorry. I do put my foot in my—”

Vessel. Yes, she was only a vessel. But she’d known that from the outset. Their marriage had been doomed the moment she lied to the old duke.

Still, she had to see. She had to see them together to make it real.

****

The next day a veiled Nora Havermere descended from her hackney cab in front of a large warehouse. Looking furtively about her, she climbed the steps and disappeared inside.

Anne alighted from her own cab and slipped in the mouth of an alleyway to wait. Only eleven-twenty. She stamped her feet, trying to keep warm. A shadow paused by a large window at the very top of the building. A glimpse of red hair as the countess leaned out. So eager to meet her lover? He must paint her up there as well as—

The figure disappeared.

“Hey there, dumplin’. Ya been waitin’ ’ere fer me?” Fish and a dank musk filled her nose. Not looking back, she scurried across the street and right up to the building Nora Havermere had entered. Only three steps and through the door to safety.

And Hell.

Cold lanced through her gloved hand as she pushed down hard on the latch. Had it locked?

She turned back to see if the man had followed, but he was gone.

What had she been thinking? Like a scene from a Penny Dreadful, this madness of confronting her husband’s lover. Still, she gave the latch one final yank. The door swung open.

A twisting set of iron stairs lay ahead. She set her foot on the first tread and then another, and another. Up and up she went. So silent.

The key lay just where it should. Even before she opened the door she heard the splash of water and a soft soprano.

The door thudded shut. Too loud.

“Dev? Oh dear, is it so late?”

The voice was music. Anne followed it like some pied piper, completely conscious of the danger this woman posed to her fragile world.

“Stay where you are. I will be out in a trice. You must be early, no? Heavens, how eager you are. You are never early.”

Splashing like rain on a tin roof came from behind a screen. “I am sorry, I can’t hear you. I always wanted to try it. Havermere will not think of modernizing. So clever, the way you have it rigged. A simple open of a tap and voila! a waterfall of delicious hot.” A burble of laughter. “I just could not resist.”

The water stopped, just the patter of drips now. “I cannot lie; I took a peek. I know, I do not play fair, but then you never expected me to, did you? It is magnificent, and you are a genius.”

Of course Nora Havermere had looked at the painting. Anyone would. Only a stupid, trusting Owl would hold fast to such an absurd promise.

Paintings lay propped against the walls. But one stood on an easel covered with a piece of cloth.

The square of canvas drew her. The fabric drape lay between her fingers. All she had to do was to lift it and see. Just one simple gesture.

“Dev, there is champagne on the table. Make yourself useful and open it, would you? I cannot stay but a few moments. Havermere will miss me soon, but I have time to toast our success for I am claiming part of it, you know.”

Cut crystal held a sweating bottle on the table by the bed. Two delicate flutes stood next to the wine. So perfect, so expectant.

Anne let the fabric go. This time it was not breaking a promise that stopped her, but sheer cowardice.

Off-key singing rose from behind the screen. At least there was something not perfect about this woman.

The screen’s embossed leather felt like smooth pebbles under her fingers, and the silken gown hanging over it held the countesses’ spicy scent. Gritting her teeth, she peered around.

Red hair with a hundred different highlights winked at her. Several tendrils had escaped and looped about Nora Havermere’s white shoulders. Swathed in a towel, the woman bent over her long leg, drying it with the edge of the cloth. Her lips were framed in a secret smile as she hummed.

James and this woman would be so stunningly perfect together. His darkness against her bright copper. Their long elegant limbs intertwined. His mouth dipping to kiss her lush, ripe lips…his hand winding in her hair…

“Dev?” The woman started to turn.

In her haste to quit the room, this building, this city, she must have made a racket on the stairs, her boots ringing against the endless treads.

Only when she was three streets away and her ribs aching did she pause to catch her breath and swipe the wet from her eyes. Her stomach heaved. Bile rose in her throat, choking her.

“Are you all right, miss?”

She tried to speak, anything to make this good Samaritan go away so she could be alone, but she only managed a nod. Footsteps started away, hesitated and then faded to nothing.

“Ugh.” She jerked her skirts away just in time.

How long she huddled in a doorway, she had no idea, but the shadows had shifted and lengthened. She shivered, now in deep shade.

By God, she was no sniveling coward. She took her handkerchief from her reticule and wiped her eyes and the mess from her mouth.

****

“Norraaa!” Dev pounded up the last few stairs and burst into the garret.

Nora turned in astonishment. “Where have you been? And what has you in such an uproar? Did I get the wrong champagne?”

The room looked empty. Nothing behind the curtains. No one lurking under the cot. He raced back down the stairs. Nothing. Back up the steps to Nora.

“What has you so stirred?”

“The door was standing wide open,” he said between breaths.

He whipped the cover off the painting.

There she was, in all her perfection. He sat on the bed, exhausted. “God, I just want this to be done. I just want to get on with our life.”

“Be easy. Two days and this nonsense will be over. You know me, it is likely I did not shut the door properly.”

“Nora, I told you to be more vigilant.”

“Yes, I know. But that latch has always been tricky. You must speak to Cheswell.” She buttoned the topmost button on her dress. He turned away. “I suppose I have gotten a bit lax with Havermere so indisposed. I can almost taste freedom.” Her gaze caught his in the reflection of the window. “Is that terrible?”

“No, my dear. God knows I would have shot the man long ago were I you.”

“Well then, it is a good thing you are not me. I would not fare well moldering in Bridewell Prison. Let us toast, shall we?”

Yes, he could use a drink, or twelve. He removed the foil and slowly twisted the cork. Pop. A misty breath of wine perfumed the air. Bubbles exploded into the glasses, popping and sputtering as they slid down into a pale pool.

“To our freedom.” Nora’s long fingers wrapped around her glass as she raised it to his.

“Yes, my countess, freedom is something I have craved for a very long time. I hope and pray this painting will be its beginning.” He raised his glass to meet hers. To freedom!”

And to love.