Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(31)

Dear God.

“Lazarus,” the otherworldly creature drawled, “how unexpected to find you here.”

She was exquisitely beautiful, like some goddess come to earth to amuse herself at the expense of mortals. This close, Temperance could see that she wore two lovely pins in her hair, diamonds, emeralds, and rubies fashioned into birds. Small diamonds on the end of delicate wires trembled whenever the lady moved her head.

It was all Temperance could do to keep from gaping, but evidently Lord Caire had no such awe for the lady. He inclined his head in a bow so brief it was insulting.

The lady’s lovely lips thinned, and her gaze turned to Temperance. “And who is this… person?”

“May I introduce Mrs. Dews,” Lord Caire said shortly.

Temperance noticed that he didn’t introduce the other woman to her.

Apparently the lady noticed it as well. She stiffened. “If you’ve brought one of your bawds to Lady Beckinhall’s home…”

Lord Caire arched an eyebrow. “Your imagination does you no credit, my lady. I assure you that Mrs. Dews is likely the most respectable person here.”

The lady’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Lazarus. You tread a fine line.”

“Do I?”

“What is this woman to you?”

Temperance felt her cheeks heat at the lady’s obvious dismissal of her. She talked as if Temperance was a dog or a cat, a dumb beast unable to communicate.

“A friend,” Temperance said.

“What did you say?” The lady blinked as if honestly startled at her ability to speak.

“I said I am a friend of Lord Caire’s,” Temperance said firmly. “And you are…?”

“Lazarus, tell me this is a prank.” She’d turned back to Lord Caire, dismissing Temperance as thoroughly as she no doubt did a downstairs maid.

“No prank.” Lord Caire smiled thinly. “I would’ve thought you of all people would be happy I chose a respectable lady to escort to this assemblage.”

“Respectable!” The lady closed her eyes as if disgusted by the word. Then her sapphire eyes snapped open. “Send her away and let me introduce you to one of your own rank. There are several unmarried—”

But Lord Caire had already started to guide Temperance away.

“Lazarus!” the lady hissed behind them. “I am your mother.”

Lord Caire stiffened and turned, a cruel smile on his lips. “So I’ve been told. Madam.”

He sketched a bow. A fleeting expression crossed the lady’s face as they turned away. Something vulnerable and unpracticed. Hurt, perhaps? And then her expression was controlled and cold again, and they were past her.

Temperance glanced at Lord Caire, aware that her cheeks had flamed. “That was your mother?”

“Alas, yes,” he replied, and yawned behind an elegant fist.

“Goodness.” She would never have guessed their relationship from the open hostility that Lord Caire had shown the lady. Did he hate his own mother? She frowned as she remembered something else. “Did she really think I was your—”

“Yes,” he clipped. He glanced at her and his voice gentled. “Don’t let it worry you. Anyone else has merely to look at you to know you would never let yourself be corrupted by me.”

Temperance glanced away, unsure if he teased or not, and that was when it happened. As she placed her foot down, she felt a catch and heard a rip. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?”

Temperance glanced down at her frock, hoping she wasn’t too obvious. “I’ve torn my hem.” She looked up at him. “Is there somewhere I might repair it?”

He nodded and in a moment had procured the direction to the ladies’ retiring room from a footman. The room was down a short hall, and Temperance carefully lifted her skirts as she made her way there. She looked around when she entered—the room was well lit and nicely appointed with low chairs for a lady to rest on—but no one was about. She stood, nonplussed for a moment. Weren’t there supposed to be maids to assist the ladies?

She shrugged and sat to inspect her hem.

“Can I help?”

Temperance lifted her head, expecting to see a maid, but a lady had entered the room. She was tall and pale, her posture as correct as a queen’s, and her hair was a lovely shade of light red. She wore a splendid gown—a muted gray-green, overembroidered in silver thread.

Temperance blinked.

The woman’s face became bland. “I don’t mean to intrude….”

“Oh, no,” Temperance said hastily. “It’s just that I was expecting a maid or… or… well, not a lady in any case. My hem is torn.”

The woman wrinkled her straight nose. “I hate when that happens.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Lady Kitchen is having an attack of hysterics or nerves I believe. No doubt that’s where all the maids have gone to.”

“Oh.” Temperance glanced again at the black ruffle on her hem. It sagged quite sadly.

But the lady was kneeling before her now, her green and silver skirts spread about her like a shining cloud.

“Oh, please don’t,” Temperance said instinctively. This woman was obviously aristocracy. What would she do if she knew Temperance was the daughter of a beer brewer?