Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(54)

Temperance smiled wryly. “Yes, he did.”

“Oh, but—”

“And he’s right.” Temperance reached across the table and took the full teacup, pulling it toward herself. “I shouldn’t leave him to go gallivanting about the East End with Lord Caire. I am neglecting my duties.”

Nell poured a second cup of tea silently, stirring in a huge lump of sugar. She took a delicate sip and then placed her cup carefully back on the table, her eyes on the tea. “Lord Caire is a very… fair man, quite easy on the eyes, I find.”

Temperance looked at her.

Nell bit her lip. “It’s that hair, I think, so long and thick and shining. And silver! It’s just so very striking.”

“I like his eyes,” Temperance admitted.

“Do you?”

There was a drop of tea on the table, and Temperance placed her fingertip in it and drew a circle on the table. “I’ve never seen eyes so blue. And his eyelashes are so dark in contrast to his hair.”

“He has quite a nice nose,” Nell said with consideration.

“And his lips are wide and curved at the ends. Have you noticed?”

Nell sighed, which seemed answer enough.

Temperance bit her lip. “And they’re so firm, yet so soft. They quite take my breath away.”

She realized that she might’ve said too much with that last confession and hastily took a sip of tea.

When she placed the cup back on the table, Nell was looking at her thoughtfully. “He seems to have a special… consideration for you.”

Temperance’s eyes dropped to the table again. Her tea circle had dried up. “How can you tell that? You’ve never even met him.”

“Ah, but I’ve heard from the children and Polly,” Nell said. “Polly says that the way he looks at you gives her thrills.”

How did he look at her? Was Nell mistaking lust for caring? And why did it matter so much to her?

Temperance shook her head, placing her hands flat on the table. “His wants are unnatural. And even if they were not, what kind of a woman would I be to let my urges guide me?”

“Perhaps an ordinary woman,” Nell said gently.

Temperance was silent, remembering the red-haired woman with the scarf over her eyes. Remembering how excited she’d been by the sight. She was so tired of trying to contain her urges, and here was Lord Caire who didn’t try to contain them at all. He seemed to revel in them instead.

Nell cleared her throat. “I once had a friend who liked a bit of adventure in the bedroom.”

“Really?” Nell hardly ever spoke of her previous profession.

Nell nodded. “He was an ordinary gentleman in other regards—he made watch faces—but in the bedroom, he liked to tie up the lady he was with.”

Temperance kept her gaze carefully focused on the bit of table between her hands, even as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. To have this discussion at all was horribly embarrassing, but to do so with Lord Caire in mind… oh, goodness!

“Did…” Temperance stopped and licked her lips. “Did he hurt you?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Nell said. “Make no mistake, there are gentlemen who like to hurt the girls they’re with, but my gentleman wasn’t one of them. He just seemed to enjoy the whole thing more with me unable to move.”

“Oh,” Temperance said in a small voice.

She shouldn’t be thinking of this at all; it incited the worst impulses in her. But she felt rebellion rise in her breast. Was it so horrible to merely contemplate a sexual union with Caire? To wonder what the scarf would feel like? To guess at what he might do first if she was bound, helpless and open to him? To imagine giving in to her urges without guilt—the way Lord Caire seemed to do?

She repressed a shudder. “I thought you disapproved of Lord Caire?”

“I don’t know the man,” Nell said carefully. “I know only his reputation among the ladies of the night in St. Giles.”

Temperance frowned. “The fact that he has any reputation at all among those ladies should be cause enough for disapproval.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Nell sighed. “I know a man should remain pure if he’s unwed. He shouldn’t visit whores if he has impulses.”

Temperance nodded jerkily. Of course not. Sexual congress outside the bonds of marriage was sinful.

“The thing is, ma’am,” Nell said quietly. “I just don’t see how it hurts.”

Temperance looked up quickly. “What do you mean?”

Nell shrugged. “Well, bedsport. I reckon all men and most women like it, even outside of marriage. Why is it so bad?”

Temperance stared, unable to reply.

Nell leaned forward. “If bedsport brings joy, even for a little while, why condemn it?”

ST. JOHN WAS in his study the next morning, frowning over a speech by Cicero, when Molder cleared his throat phlegmily at the door. “Lord Caire to see you, sir.”

He would’ve perhaps claimed to not be home, but Caire, damn him, was right behind the butler. St. John clenched his jaw, set down his pen, and waved Caire in.

Caire strolled in carrying a huge bouquet of daisies. “You won’t credit who I met in St. Giles last night.”

“A whore?” St. John asked acidly.