Chapter 5
Laura smoothed her hand over the cover of the fairytale book again, which she had hidden beneath her pillow. She lay in her bed, picking at the blue satin counterpane and thinking of the events of the day. The afternoon's entertainment with the Rothstones had been cancelled because of the downpour that had ensued as they had been eating lunch. Laura and her mother had taken leave of them at the Rutledge, Astoria having already accepted an invitation from Penelope to meet at a ball the next night. Lord Rothstone had ordered their carriages be brought round and had used an umbrella to walk from the safety of the building out to his conveyance, not letting a single drop of odious water touch his person. Remington had been faultlessly courteous to Laura in front of their mothers at they took their leave, which had only irked her further.
There had to be some way of finding out what he was up to. One didn't simply declare they were courting someone with no encouragement from the other party. Of course, Laura thought, the way she had kissed him in the garden could be viewed as encouragement, but she knew that her recent attitude towards him as been as discouraging as possible. He couldn't possibly think that she wanted any more contact with him, not with the way she had treated him today.
Laura growled and flipped over, trying to find a more comfortable position. Sleep had been eluding her for over an hour, but neither her brain nor her body was inclined to shut down as long as she kept thinking about the problem of Remington Rothstone. And, apparently, she couldn't stop thinking about him. That was really the problem. Every other suitor she had let down easily enough, but with Remington, she wasn't even sure she wanted to.
Accepting that she wasn't going to be able to succumb to the arms of Morpheus quite yet, Laura rose and went to her painting table. Lighting a lantern, she sat and began to sort through various stacks of photograph plates for one she felt like painting. After glancing at a few recent ones, she decided on a photo she had taken last year of a fox sleeping in a wooden glen. It had been a very lucky Dag shot, as foxes were rarely to be caught unawares. But Laura could only assume that the creature had felt no threat from her presence, having become accustomed to her frequent wanderings in that part of the forest. The little rusty fox had stayed right where he was, even when he awoke during Laura's noisy packing of equipment. He had simply opened one eye in annoyance, sighed, and closed it again, barely moving a hair. Laura smiled at the small image in her hands, remembering the drowsy sun-drenched trees and grasses she had hiked through that day, and the small miracle of a lazy fox willing to pose for a picture. She laid out her small paint pots in their usual order and uncorked them, their acrid smell familiar and comforting. A dented tin plate on the left side of the desk soon became marred with various shades of orange, red, and brown as Laura mixed different paints together to create the right colors for the sleeping fox.
Once she settled into the familiar process of painstakingly applying pigment to the black and white image, Laura felt her nerves begin to uncoil. Her thoughts once again returned to Lord Rothstone and his dauntless pursuit of her. Why wasn't he cowed by her lack of response? If she had been subjected to the cool gazes and constant buffers that she had thrown at him, Laura was sure she would have crawled away in mortified humiliation by now. But her disdain hadn't seemed to have any effect on him so far. Throughout the day, he had constantly tested the boundaries of propriety and her patience, remaining oddly cheerful despite her rebuffs.
Except for her mention of the kiss in the garden, that is.
Laura held her brush aloft, hesitating before attempting to highlight the muzzle of the fox's delicate nose. Lord Rothstone had become wooden, all levity leaving him at the allusion to their kiss as being a mistake. Perhaps he had taken it as a slight to his sensual abilities. Shivers made their way up her spine and across her scalp as she became enveloped in the memory of being held close to his body, the firm length of him pressed against her own lines. His lips had taken hers in skillful manipulation, despite the frenzy that had been stirred up in them both. A slow wave of need began to curl its way through her abdomen. Laura gulped and took a deep breath. Surely he couldn't doubt his abilities when it came to the fairer sex. He had seduced her into participating wholly in that kiss, no matter how she had tried to deny her own culpability.
Then again, she had slapped him afterward.
Laura put her hand over her mouth to stifle an inelegant snort of laughter. She had to concede that perhaps he had gotten mixed signals from their encounter.
Dipping her fine-pointed brush into the white paint pot, she lightly brushed the fox's muzzle and face, giving him the distinctive fur pattern she remembered him having.
A barely discernable tapping sound invaded Laura's concentration. She stopped and listened, wondering if it was just her imagination, which had been known to give her frightening flights of fancy late at night when she couldn't sleep. Her ears strained in the silence, hoping she was not about to have another sleepless night for fear of soundless knockings and sightless apparitions.
Tap tap tap.
No, it was most certainly real and coming from her door. Laura got up from her desk and went to the entrance of her bedchamber.
"Who is it?" she whispered.
"It's Papa, Dear."
Laura breathed out in relief and opened the door. "Hello, Papa. Is something amiss?"
Her reached out and brought her forward for a peck on the forehead. "No, no, sweetheart. I saw the light under your door and wondered why you were still up so late."
Laura picked her dressing robe off its hook and came out into the hallway. "Oh, you know. Just couldn't sleep for some reason."
He smiled knowingly. "Well, in that case, would you like to come have a cup of chocolate with me downstairs? You can tell me all about your wondrous experiences in London so far."
Laura rolled her eyes, walking arm in arm with him down the main staircase.
He laughed lightly. "It's not been all that bad, has it?"
Laura thought about it. "No, not really. It's just... Well, I think I might have built up the entire marriage experience into something it's not."
Gregory Parrington led his daughter across the parquet floor of the entrance hall towards the kitchen wing. "No, my love, you have built the marriage mart into something it's not. Marriage, on the other hand," he said with force, "is quite the most wonderful thing you can find yourself in."
Laura smiled at him, though his face was obscured by the dimness. "I think you're right." She sighed as they entered the cozy round kitchen with its thick square table and large hearth built into the wall. Shelves lined the room's walls up to the ceiling with all sorts of dried goods, baking materials, cured meats, cheeses, and thick sweetbreads. She sat down on a stool at the wooden table while her father went directly to the shelf with the block of chocolate he knew was kept there. He shaved off several small pieces of the dark substance, located two cups from in one of the cabinets, and stirred up the dying embers of the fire in the hearth. "But how does one go from all of this nonsense and posturing to being married? I can't even imagine being paired with one of those silly gentlemen for life." Laura watched as the Earl filled the cups with a combination of milk, cream, and sugar while the chocolate pieces melted in a pot over the fire. Though she was agitated over the subject they were discussing, her father's motions of the ritual they had shared since she was a child calmed her. She propped her head on her hand and imagined the gooey liquid the chocolate was turning into. Her mouth watered in anticipation. Her Papa made the best cup of chocolate this side of the Atlantic, she was sure.
"Well, it's not an exact science, Dear One. Everyone has a different story of how they came to be with the one they are married to, but you must remember that not everyone has a happy story. Many people end up married to someone they do not love or whom they grow to resent over time. That's why you must be very careful to whom you open your heart." He stirred the chocolate with a wooden spoon and took the pot from the hearth. Very carefully, he poured a liberal amount into each cup and mixed it into both cups with a copper spoon. Bringing the steaming mugs to the table, he continued, "If none of the gentlemen you've met stir your heart or strike you as someone whom you can admire, then don't bother with the lot of them. You know that neither your mother nor I would ever encourage you to rush into anything with a gentleman just for the sake of being married, Laura."
Laura scooted her cup closer and inhaled the delicious aroma of sweet, rich chocolate wafting from the cup. She blew on the liquid to cool it. "I know Papa. And I'm so very thankful for that." She thought about the men she had met so far and knew that none of them had stirred anything in her but mild distaste. Her stomach tightened. That wasn't entirely true. Remington Rothstone had stirred something in her other than distaste, but she wasn't sure exactly what it was. Confusion? Lust? Aggravation?
"What if you're not sure of someone? What if you just can't figure out who they are or why they do the things they do?" She waved her hand in emphasis.
The Earl smiled. "That is the fun part, then, isn't it? Finding out who someone is. Knowing what kind of person they are and if they are the kind of person whom you could come to love- that is the excitement of discovery, Laura. That is the way to fall in love. And that is the way to become married to someone who will bring you happiness for the rest of your life."
Laura sipped her chocolate and tried to suppress the flutters of nervousness that her father's words awoke in her chest. "It all sounds very...vulnerable," she admitted.
Her father frowned. "I've never known you to shy away from someone because you are afraid of them, my imp." He paused. "But you're right. It is vulnerable. Opening yourself up to someone and trusting them with your feelings is the most risky thing you can possibly do. However," he said pointedly, putting a hand on the top of her head. "It is also the bravest. And a risk of that sort is what can bring forth the most amazing results."
Laura's throat tightened. She hoped she could live up to his words. Laura had never before doubted that she would eventually have the kind of marriage that her parents had: caring, trusting, happy. But now that it was her turn to try and let it happen, it seemed almost impossible to let a practical stranger wreak havoc on her emotions. Perhaps she had never considered the before part of her own parents' marriage. She had just always seen them so in love and content and perfect together that she hadn't thought about the fact that they couldn't have always been that way. They, too, had to have met as strangers at some point and, not knowing what the future held, let themselves fall for the other.
What an exhausting prospect! Laura gulped. She had never been a guarded person up to now. She had grown up trusting the people around her and assuming that those she met were good. But, when it came to romance, it seemed that it was quite a bit of work to allow oneself to be under the influence of another. Maybe it was the false sincerity of all the overly dramatic men she had met in London. Her sense of trust had been wounded. In the course of only a few days, Laura had come to be deeply suspicious of most everyone she met here, as if none of them could possibly be genuine.
The Earl was silent as Laura contemplated these things, knowing that she needed to sort out her own thoughts. She had always been one for analyzing things, whether they were gadgets and gizmos, or people. He suspected, though, that she hadn't had much experience in the way of making sense of gentlemen's intentions. One thing he knew for certain was that she would figure out a system of her own for judging the sincerity of those around her. London, he knew, was full of all different kinds of people, some with real kindness and others with real malice.
Lord Parrington just hoped that Laura would learn to recognize the difference between the two. Because he wasn't sure that he could withstand seeing his little girl have her heart broken by the latter. And it was a possibility. In fact, though he didn't want to think about it, it was a likelihood. Most people, at some point in their lives, had their heart broken and their trust betrayed somehow. He knew he had when he had been young. The fact that Laura hadn't yet made him both happy and a little fearful.
She had never dealt with the kind of selfishness and fear that made people do terrible things to one another. It was one of the reasons he had wanted to raise her in the country, away from the machinations of London's aristocrats. There, she had grown up with good people, and he could control who came and went on their placid estate. Here, she would have to fend for herself among the denizens of the fast-paced city. He had no doubt that she would eventually come through the experience of London's marriage mart with her beliefs and happiness intact. But in the meantime, it might prove quite difficult watching his only child suffer the unknowns of a society that could oftentimes be cruel.
"How long was it after you met Mama that you knew you loved her?" Laura asked, interrupting his train of thought.
He smiled. "Not long. Not long at all. But you mustn't take our story as Gospel. My good friend Colonel Briarhurst grew up next door to his future bride all of his life, and didn't realize he loved her until he was thirty two, after already marrying and burying another woman."
"How sad," Laura murmured.
"In a way, yes. But they are very happy now, with four children." Lord Parrington took their now-empty cups and placed them on the counter near the washbasin. "What I'm trying to say is, there isn't a scientific formula for knowing when you are in love or even if the person you love is the right one for you. You'll just have to stumble around until, suddenly, you know that you couldn't possibly be happy without someone."
"That sounds terrible!" Laura exclaimed, rising from her seat.
The Earl laughed and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Perhaps I'm bungling this all up, and you shouldn't listen to a word I say," he declared, leading them from kitchen and through the dim interior of the house.
Laura covered a yawn. "No, Papa, I think you're very wise."
The Earl wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Why, thank you, puppet. It's nice of you to say so."
The cup of chocolate had done its work, and Laura could feel her eyelids beginning to grow heavy. She plodded up the stairs and took of her father in the hallway, then made her way to her own bed, which now seemed quite welcoming. As she settled into the soft counterpane, Laura wasn't sure if she felt reassured or only more confused after hearing her father's words. But before she could reflect further, sleep overtook her, for which her muddled mind was very grateful.
Tonight, Laura was to attend the theatre with Georgiana Hammond and her family. She had penned a request to Gia as soon as she woke, asking what event her friend had planned to attend that evening. And thank heavens Gia had promptly sent a note back asking if she wanted to sit in her family's box with her at the theatre for the opening of Don Giovanni.
For come hell or high water, she most definitely wasn't attending the Craigerton Ball.
Laura did feel a bit guilty for ignoring her personal invitation from Lord Daniel Craigerton that she’d received weeks ago, as he was actually quite a pleasant gentleman, but there was nothing for it. She needed a break from the constant crowd of people whose only aim seemed to be in impressing each other with silly remarks, be they obsequious compliments or scathing insults. Mayhap she was being too harsh on her fellow contemporaries, but she felt exhausted simply trying to keep up with their barbed comments and loaded innuendos.
It would be a nice reprieve to experience an opera, something she had never had access to in the country. She had heard wondrous things about the soaring voices of the vocalists on stage and the extravagant costumes they wore.
But, as always, it seemed that the more important costumes were the ones the patrons donned for such events. Which was why, an entire three hours before she had to leave for Gia's family residence, her mother was supervising her wardrobe choice for the evening. Because there would be no dancing at such a gathering, dresses with trains and more voluminous skirts could be worn.
In other words, people could show off more without fearing they would trip on their own clothes.
Astoria flitted from wardrobe to wardrobe, selecting and discarding options faster than a pickpocket on Fleet Street. "No, no, no...too sedate," she muttered before taking off across the room to another row of silks, satins, and brocades.
Laura, for her part, was mostly ignoring her mother, reading a novel from the comfort of her bed. Her mother's wardrobe deliberations could go on for at least another hour before she finally settled on a suitable choice, which Laura didn't mind in the least, give that her novel was quite engaging.
"Aha!" Astoria declared, dragging a voluminous dress from the back of one of the wardrobes closest to the water closet.
Laura looked up and watched as her mother smoothed out the lines of a royal blue ball gown, arranging it for perusal. "Where did you find that? I don't remember having seen it before."
"That's because you haven't," Lady Parrington told her, smiling mischievously. "I had it made for you two years ago, but, unfortunately, your, er, womanly assets hadn't quite developed to be able to fill it out. But now..." She held it up, letting Laura take in its shape and style.
It wasn't a complicated design. All velvet, the heart-shaped neckline with lace scraps of sleeves dove into a tapered waist that Laura knew she would have to wear a corset with. The dress then ballooned out into bud-shaped hoop skirts that ended in lace-trimmed petticoats of a lighter blue peeking out from beneath. The petticoats draped back behind the dress to form the hint of a train. It was very elegant indeed, a dress fit for a princess.
"What do you think?" her mother asked, twirling it around.
Laura pursed her lips. "I think I'm going to be very uncomfortable."
Astoria smiled grimly. "Who said the Opera is supposed to be comfortable?"
"Who indeed?" Laura muttered, adjusting her skirts to a better position in the cushioned seat of the opera box.
"What was that?" Georgiana chimed.
"Oh nothing," Laura sighed. Other than her corset stays digging into her waist and her dress taking up enough room for three people, she was actually quite enjoying herself so far. Even though the performance hadn't begun yet, there was plenty to see. Her mother had been right; everyone was dressed to impress in their finest clothes and heavy jewelry. Most of the young socialites hovered around each other, talking, laughing, and displaying themselves to their best advantage. A young lady in a low-cut, vivid orange dress was flirting outrageously with a man that Laura remembered had paid compliments to her during her first ball. It seemed he was quite receptive to the woman's advances because he whispered in her ear and received a smiling nod in return. Mentally, she checked him off her list. Sitting in the box with Georgiana, Laura was trying to avoid the crush in the foyer and the halls. Thankfully, her friend did not seem upset about missing the melee either. Gia's parents had gone to their friends' box to chat, and that circumstance had led some of the braver gentlemen to approach the box and attempt to engage the ladies in conversation. So far, yawning, fanning themselves, and repeatedly turning the conversation towards the gentlemen’s' mothers had encouraged them to move along quickly.
"I can't believe Lord Pratley is letting that thing hang all over him," Gia hissed, leaning towards her.
"Who?" Laura asked, scanning the crowd.
"Lord Pratley," Gia repeated, pointing to him with her fan.
It was the gentleman with the orange-clad flirt. "Oh, yes, I saw that. Who is the woman? I don't think I've seen her before," Laura commented.
Gia snorted. "Well, you wouldn't have, would you? She's a courtesan."
"A courtesan?"
Gia looked at her, puzzled. "You know, a ladybird. Opera singer. Lightskirt." She waited a few seconds. When Laura's face did not register recognition, Gia added bluntly, "Whore."
Laura's eyes widened. "Excuse me? You mean that woman is a lady of the evening?"
Gia rolled her eyes. "That's what I just said."
"Why is she here?"
"She is probably a singer here, or a dancer. But they gain patronage from the young bucks who come to the opera house."
"What do you mean, patronage?"
"Well, they shop for men to pay for their favors on a long-term basis. Mistresses, you know. They set them up in a townhouse, pay for all their clothes and jewelry, and visit them whenever they want."
"How do you know all this?" Laura looked at her in wonder.
"Three older brothers," Gia grinned mischievously.
"I'm not sure I could survive having that many brothers," Laura admitted.
"There were times when I didn't either," Gia stated, but it was obvious from her tone that she was nostalgic about them.
"How can they be so obvious?" Laura asked, her attention once again on the couple wound around each other amongst the crowd on the lower level.
"The younger men are so besotted, they don't even care than their mother's friend could be watching them with her quizzing glass. And it's dark down there; he probably thinks no one can make him out. A lot of people simply turn a blind eye to it. The titled ones especially, have an unspoken license to do whatever they please, and no one says anything about it. The older men, and married ones, are much more discreet."
"Well, I think it's despicable, flaunting themselves in front of people."
"Oh, Laura, there's a whole world you know nothing about." Gia shook her head, her diamond earrings dangling from side to side.
"Do I want to know about it?" she asked.
"Probably not," Gia answered honestly. "But the subject matter of this particular opera is rather opportune," she said cryptically.
In the next moment, several of the gaslights dimmed around the theatre, throwing the audience into shadow as the stage became more prominent. The light intensified there, and the red velvet curtains parted to reveal a stage set featuring a backdrop of a moonlit garden. For one tingling moment, Laura was reminded of the garden in the Rothstone's home, but this set contained a man who began to sing robustly in Italian. Gia's parents scooted into the box behind them, settling in quickly as more characters appeared onstage.
Although Laura couldn't understand the words, as the scene progressed, it became clear that the main character, Don Giovonni, was quite the despicable scoundrel himself. Since the words of the vocalists were printed in English for the viewers in a pamphlet, Laura soon became immersed in squinting out the words between songs to keep up with what was going on. The soaring voices of the vocalists were magnificent, making the hairs on her scalp tingle in pleasure. In the country, there had been evenings of musical entertainment with some of the surrounding families, but Laura had never heard anything like the intense beauty of these actors' voices rising above the orchestra's accompaniment like offerings to God.
"What are you doing?" Gia whispered behind her fan during the second act.
Laura continued to concentrate on the pamphlet. "Trying to understand the plot. I don't speak Italian."
Gia began to laugh. "Most people who go to the opera don't either. Everyone already knows the plot before they go. And if they don't, they just try and figure it out as they go along."
"That's a terrible way to enjoy a play!" Laura exclaimed, lowering her opera glasses.
Gia's parents seated behind them began to chortle. Her mother tapped Laura on the shoulder. "I agree, dear."
Between the second and third acts, there began an intermission during which the patrons were expected to socialize and enjoy champagne and hors d'oeuvres in the public areas. Gia's parents bustled them out of the box and into the hall to meet some of their friends. Laura was introduced to several of the Hammonds' acquaintances and discovered that she liked their set much better than most of the people she had met thus far. She was chatting about the events of the opera with Mrs. Orlove, the young wife of a naval officer, when a gentleman whom Laura recognized approached the two women and bowed to each, taking their hands and pressing a kiss to their backs.
"Ladies, I trust you are enjoying the vocalists this evening?" he smiled, his teeth white and even.
Laura smiled in return. She remembered meeting this particular man, but couldn't recall his name. His face was angular and pleasant, with hawkish brows and a straight nose. His hair was a thick, medium brown that looked as if it never misbehaved, except to charmingly ruffle in the breeze. He had seemed polite, but other than that, nothing came to mind of their previous conversations. "Yes, indeed. We were just commenting upon the scurrilous character of Don Giovanni, Mr...?"
"Fennimore," he provided. "Grayson Fennimore. You are Miss Laura Parrington, and your companion?" He turned to Mrs. Orlove, who gave him her name and then politely excused herself to find her husband. After she had taken her leave, he continued, "I would have to agree with you that the main character is not one whom it would be wise to emulate. He certainly casts a rather damning shadow upon my gender." Mr. Fennimore smiled good-naturedly.
Laura laughed. "I am sure that his behavior does not reflect on your own, Mr. Fennimore."
"I would hope not. Although his pursuit of the fair sex is disturbingly misguided, one has to admire his zeal. If he ever set eyes on you, Miss Parrington, I'm not sure I would begrudge him his determination."
Laura blushed and looked down. His eyes were genuinely kind, she could see. And he was intelligent as well. She was quickly finding that she did not mind his company at all.
"You know how to flatter a lady, Mr. Fennimore."
"Ah, but it's not flattery if it's true. And call me Grayson," he inserted smoothly, taking her hand and holding it warmly.
"Oh, I couldn't." she shook her head.
"Please. I would feel honored." He laid his other hand over hers.
"Well," Laura conceded. "Only when no one else will hear, then."
"Fair enough." He grinned.
Laura returned the smile. She could like this man, she realized. His eyes were a golden brown with amber flecks shot throughout. He was smiling down at her when Gia came up beside her and nudged her hard in the ribcage with her elbow.
"Ouch. What was that for?"
"Laura, you must introduce me to your friend," Gia smiled brightly at Lord Fennimore.
"Ah, but I know who you are, Miss Hammond. A woman as beautiful as yourself can hardly expect to remain anonymous in London's ballrooms this season."
Laura muffled a giggle. Grayson Fennimore obviously couldn't help but be irresistibly charming to every woman he came across. She would do well to remember that. But it was impossible for her to bear any ill will towards Gia for capturing his attention. After all, she deserved to find a good match just as much as she.
Lord Fennimore spoke warmly with Gia and her for another few moments when, gradually, Laura became aware of an odd sensation between her shoulders. A slight coolness raised goosebumps on her upper back. She glanced behind her to see if anyone had passed by, creating a breeze, but no one was in the immediate vicinity. Discreetly, she reached behind her neck to satisfy her need to quell the unsettling feeling. As she did so, her eyes widened when she realized that the clasp holding her dress together at the top had come undone. As the design for the dress allowed for a triangle of lacy under-lining to show below the top closure before coming together again just above the small of her back, Laura knew that her entire back would be exposed now, including the uppermost stays of her corset.
Her heart rose up in her throat as she tried to keep her face from showing her panic. "Gia," she said softly, tugging on her friend's glove.
Gia waved her off, still under the influence of Lord Fennimore's smile.
"Gia, may I speak with you for a moment?"
"Can it wait? Gia ground out, still smiling at the man before them.
"Well-," Laura started.
"Oh, good," Gia cut in. "Now what were you saying, Lord Fennimore?"
Laura growled internally. So much for friendship when a rich man with all his teeth came sniffing around. She began to scoot to the side, hugging the wall closely lest anyone see her fashion mishap. Her eyes darted around the room, making sure that no one noticed her progress towards the dimly lit hallway to her left. She didn't know where the powder room was located, but all she needed was an empty room, perhaps the coatroom or some such, to put her dress to rights. She rounded the corner and was making steady progress towards a door that looked promising when a well-dressed man and woman came walking down the hall towards her. The man moved with a smooth grace that Laura recognized immediately, despite the poorly-lit passage.
"Blast it all," she muttered as Remington Rothstone strode towards her nonchalantly.
"Well, if it isn't Miss Laura Parrington sneaking off again to wander the halls unchaperoned." He approached her with a smirk on his lips. The woman accompanying him stood a few feet away, also smiling.
Laura glanced at his companion, a curiously dressed woman who looked to be only slightly older than herself. She had riotously curly hair of a dark hue, and olive-toned skin with full, red lips. The woman’s garb consisted of layers of bright-colored materials and jangling belts and purses. She’d never seen anything like it. And then it hit her: she must be an actress with the theatre.
“Oh, are you in the production tonight?” Laura asked politely, hoping to glean what she was doing with Rothstone.
Not that she cared. At all. Not at all.
The woman grinned. “No.”
Just no. Well, then. “Right. I- your dress is lovely,” she tried.
“Thank you,” she replied, inclining her head. She turned her wide brown eyes to Rothstone. “Remmy, I’ll wait for you outside?”
“That sounds fine, Mina. Tell Yoska I’ll won’t be too long.”
Laura narrowed her eyes. He was leaving with this woman? And someone else? Who was she to him?
Not that she cared.
Mina touched his shoulder briefly before nodding at Laura and sashaying away down the hall.
“Who was that?” she inquired, pressing herself more firmly against the wall to conceal her state of undress. She made sure her tone was casual.
"If I didn't know any better, I would say that you weren't glad to see me. And I little jealous." He raised a brow.
She scoffed. “Not even a little bit.”
“It’s a bit fetching, actually. Green looks good on you, Miss Parrington.”
Her lips pursed. “I don’t care who you keep company with, Lord Rothstone, as long as it’s not me.”
“Tsk. You’re not a very good liar, you know,” he told her, a twinkle in his eye.
"I thought you were attending the Craigerton ball tonight," she said flatly.
He smiled, an uneven quirk of the lips. "You shouldn't assume I escort my mother around to every function she deems worthy."
"You're right. That would be the act of a gentleman."
He barked a laugh. "No, that would be the act of a mummy's boy, which, though I love my mother dearly, does not describe me."
"I wouldn't think you enjoyed the opera," Laura commented pertly.
"And why wouldn't I?" He leaned against the wall next to her, arms crossed, that infernal twist of a smile still haunting his face.
"Too much culture," she shot back.
He laughed again. "You are quite determined to paint me as the dim-witted villain, aren't you?" he said wryly.
"Not at all. It's just that you make it so easy." She gave him her best smile and batted her lashes up into his face.
He smiled, his white teeth showing in the darkness. He didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at her. Then, he said simply. "I like you."
Laura's heart stopped mid-beat. She swallowed convulsively, not sure of how to respond. If only he wasn't so blasted handsome! He made her forget her scruples every time they met. His eyes seemed endless pools of molten darkness that drew her inexorably in. The smile that lingered on his lips constantly drew her gaze as well, making her recall the searing kisses he had stolen from her.
When she didn't respond after a moment, he took pity on her and resumed the conversation. "Why are you wandering around back here anyways?"
"I could ask you the same question," she retorted, not about to tell him her reason for wanting an empty room nearby. She adjusted herself against the wall, careful not to reveal her back.
"I was visiting with the owner of the establishment, actually. My contributions to this place entitle me to certain considerations, which I was using to arrange a business transaction for a dear friend."
“Mina?” she inquired, not able to help herself. She could feel the jealousy coursing through her and hated herself for it, even as she couldn’t control it.
“Among others, yes. They helped me once when I was in trouble, and I have strived to champion their cause ever since. So when the theatre needed supplies of a certain nature, I thought of Mina’s family and pressed my influence.”
"That sounds like too much clout for one man," Laura said skeptically.
"I have much too much money for one man," replied smoothly.
Laura rolled her eyes. It seemed he was involved in helping others, which she had to admit was a redeeming quality. She just wished the recipient of his generosity wasn’t so pretty and mysterious.
Not that she cared.
Feeling the rather cool wall against her shoulders, Laura became uneasy. "Well, if you will excuse me, I really need to be going now."
He blinked, but did not move from his casual stance against the wall. "So go."
Laura scowled. "I need to go that way." She nodded towards the way he had come.
Lord Rothstone frowned. Nodding slowly, he said, "Alright. Go around me."
Laura's scowl deepened. She couldn't very well leave the safety of the wall and risk anyone, especially him, seeing her state of undress. Arms crossed, she shuffled from foot to foot. "I would appreciate it very much if you would let me pass."
"I am not hindering you, madam, I assure you." His voice had grown a tad suspicious.
"Please move aside, then, Sir," Laura said in her most commanding tone.
Lord Rothstone uncrossed his lower leg from the other and stood up straight, his expression wholly confused. "What is going on with you, Miss Parrington?" His eyes narrowed in on her.
The look on Laura's face was torn between fury and panic. Her gaze raked his face in debate. Finally, Laura let out a breath. "If you must know, Lord Rothstone, I have a- an issue with my attire that I need to correct."
Understanding slowly dawned on his face. At first he smiled, then chuckled, but at the look on Laura's visage as he did so, quickly cleared his throat and became politely quiet. After a moment of stony silence from Laura, however, he rolled his eyes. "Oh, bollocks, it's not as if you're walking around in your shift and stockings. Here, come this way." He laid his hand on her elbow and began to move back down the hallway with her in tow. "There's an antechamber they use for quick storage of serving platters and such just down here."
Laura wasn't sure she ought to be following him anywhere, but under the circumstances, she really didn't have any other options. Still scooting along the wall and casting furtive glances behind her to make sure no one was watching, she let him lead her past one more door until they came to one that he opened and swiftly pulled her through. Her breath caught as she entered the pitch-black room, Rothstone having pulled the door shut behind them. She groped around in the dark, wanting something to ground herself to.
She heard Rothstone let out a curse from somewhere to her right.
Laura continued to feel around and found a wall to her left, deciding to stay there until a light could be found. Rothstone opened the door a crack to see by and eventually found a silver candelabra, which he lighted with a match from his pocket before closing the door again.
Laura did not move during this process, wondering if he was going to leave her now. After he had lit the candles, he put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. There were crates stacked along the far wall, and top-to-bottom shelves filled with all sorts of trays, cloths, and serving utensils dominating the other. Eventually, Laura said, "Thank you, Lord Rothstone. I believe I can handle it from here."
His eyes returned to her form, his brows in a frown. "I'm not leaving you here unattended," he announced.
Laura scoffed. "And why not?" she protested. "I'm perfectly able to find my way back down one hallway, Sir."
"It's not that. This is a staff room, Lady Parrington," he explained impatiently. "One of the footmen or champagne servers could come in at any moment, and there is no lock on the door. So I will stand guard while you put yourself to rights," he explained in a pragmatic voice that annoyed Laura to no end.
"No, you will not," Laura argued firmly, glaring.
He simply began whistling, put his hands in his pockets, and moseyed his way over to a stack of wine cases and sat down on one, facing away from her.
Laura huffed. "Oh, fine, you cad. I cannot believe this," she continued muttering, reaching up to re-fasten the clasp on her dress. Unfortunately, it became apparent after a few moments of struggling that there was no way she could reach the clasp by herself. Growing more agitated by the second, she attempted several flexible maneuvers to reach the blasted closure, but to no avail. Taking several deep breaths to compose herself, Laura prepared to do something she never would have allowed herself to think about doing ten minutes ago.
"Lord Rothstone," she called, her voice high and formal.
His whistling stopped. "Yes?"
Laura steeled herself and closed her eyes, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. "It appears I have need of your assistance," she ground out.
"Oh?"
He sounded much too pleased.
"I cannot reach the clasp to reclose my dress properly. I know this is highly irregular, but I would be very grateful if you could...re-fasten my dress," she finished, her cheeks burning in mortification. When her eyes opened, she found him staring at her in bemused silence, still sitting on the crate of wine. "Well?" she asked impatiently, planting her hands on her hips.
As if burned by the wooden crate, he leaped up and began to cross the room towards her. "Yes, of course, Miss Parrrington." His voice sounded a bit strangled.
He was moving much too quickly. Laura automatically took a step back. Her heart leapt as he neared and stood towering over her. Those eyes of his...There was no denying she was attracted to this man, wanted him in a way she didn't understand. The way he had kissed her, held her, made her legs feel as though they were melting now as she remembered it. But that didn't mean she had to like him or succumb to his sneaky courtship ideas.
She cleared her throat. "No funny business," she ordered, her voice a little less firm than she would have liked. She didn't want to expose her corset to him, but there really was no choice now. Swallowing, she turned away from him and tried to keep her legs from shaking. Exhaling, she prepared for his laughter. His scoff. Anything. But he did not say a word or touch her at all. The silence lengthened, causing her heartbeat to steadily rise. She did not have the courage to look behind her. Her breathing grew shallow and rapid. What was he-?
A whisper of a touch on her neck almost made Laura jump out of her skin. Two warm, bare fingers came to rest near the back of her earlobe and slid slowly from the nape of her neck to down between her shoulder blades. A rush of breath escaped her at the contact. All of the hairs on her neck and arms stood on end from the tingling sensation of his gentle course over her skin. His fingers fanned out and traced her shoulder as his other hand came up to alight upon her upper arm. He was barely touching her, his hands mere tickles of sensation on her bare skin.
"Laura," Rothstone breathed, his mouth very near her ear.
His breathing was strained and quick, causing a deep-seated spiral of need to work its way down Laura's body. She didn't know what to do, whether she should move or say something to put a stop to the intense feeling of forbidden pleasure coursing through her. Even if she had wanted it to stop, she wasn't sure she could have done anything at all, what with the effort it was taking her to simply remain standing and not melt into a puddle on the floor.
Laura felt him bury his face in her updone hair while his hands roamed freely over the bared skin of her shoulders and neck. She let a tiny moan escape, its sensual sound surprising her. How was this happening? Why was she letting it continue when she knew it was a terrible mistake? If anyone were to come into the room, she would be ruined forever. These things ran through her mind, but it was as if the better part of her were under some sort of spell that wouldn't let her care about the consequences, only about the heady sensations making their way through her veins and muscles and down to her very bones. Laura didn't understand how his touch could make her feel both powerful and overcome at the same time. Like her every cell was being taken over by someone else, and yet she had never been more alive, more in control of her own fate.
His breathing grew more ragged as his fingertips rubbed across her back, lower and lower until he encountered her stomach corset. Laura had never wanted to be free of the confining thing more in her entire life. She wanted his hands to continue going wherever they had been heading. She didn’t know what he would do next, which made his every touch more shockingly sensitive.
"You have no idea what you do to me," Rothstone whispered. "Every day, every hour, every second, I want you," he told her, his hands spanning her waist and wrapping around to her quivering stomach.
Laura's breathing hitched. "I.... might want you too." The words came from somewhere she couldn't control, almost like someone else was saying them. Why would she say that? She didn't even like him! He infuriated her at every opportunity, but it seemed that none of that mattered now. All that mattered was that he keep doing what he was doing. At the moment, she couldn't even remember why she had any objection at all to him.
Rothstone let out a low growl. "You shouldn't say that. I can barely control myself around you as it is. If you stop resisting me, what will happen then?" he finished softly, and his teeth found her earlobe from behind as his hands tightened around her waist.
Laura gasped. He had a point. What would happen if she simply let him do what he wanted? His tongue was doing wicked things to the edge of her ear, causing shivers to run up and down the length of her spine. Her moan came from deep in her throat, and Rothstone seemed to like it, for she felt his smile as his lips roamed from her ear down the side of her throat.
"L-lord-"
"Rem. Call me Rem," he admonished, gently squeezing her side with one of his large hands.
"Rem." His name came easily, and seemed right somehow.
"Yes?" His voice rumbled pleasantly in her ear.
"I can't...I don't know what to do," she admitted unsteadily. “Wouldn’t you rather have someone who knew what to do? Someone like…Mina?” She held her breath, hoping he didn’t have feelings for the sensual gypsy woman.
He chuckled deeply. “Why is it you can’t understand?” He rumbled, nipping her earlobe with his teeth. “I want you more than anyone I’ve ever met. And Mina… Mina is like a sister to me. I would do nearly anything for her, but never this.”
Laura exhaled, a giddy pressure building in her chest.
His warm hands applied pressure to her midsection, bringing her tighter against his chest. "If you don’t know what to do, I'll teach you, little one."
Laura's mind was entrapped firmly in a haze of need, and there was nothing she wanted more than for him to teach her of the things he hinted at. She let out the breath she was holding and let herself lean back against his solid warmth, relishing the hardness of his chest and the considerable width of his shoulders.
"Would you like that, Laura? I'll show you all sorts of wonderful things. I can make you feel so good in my arms," he tantalized her, his voice steeped in knowledge that Laura ached to know too. "All you have to do is say 'yes.'"
Laura gulped. She knew she shouldn't, couldn't give into this madness, and yet, her entire body was screaming, Yes! Please! Now! Alarm bells of doubt and caution chimed in the back of her mind, but she was too far gone, too enveloped in the world of sensation he had created around her. Her throat was tight with nervousness, and she couldn't get anything past the lump for some time. Finally, clenching his hands around her, she whispered hoarsely, "Yes."
Rothstone sucked in a harsh breath and then let it out very slowly. He didn't move for a moment, but then his hands began to lift their pressure from around her stomach and slide backwards along her ribcage. They lingered on the smooth skin of her exposed back, tracing a delicate design that Laura could not interpret. She didn't know what he was doing, but it felt incredible.
That is, it did until she could feel him fumbling with the edges of her gown, tugging them together at the top. "What are you doing?" she asked abruptly as he secured the clasp. She didn't know much about thing sort of thing, but shouldn't he be removing more of her clothes now?
"Putting your dress to rights," he informed her, his voice much less husky than it had been a moment before.
Laura blinked, wondering what in the world was going on. Her head had started to clear, the fussiness of desire fading somewhat. "But...why?" She turned around to face him, her eyebrows drawn down in confusion. Was there something he was going to do that required her dress being in place? That didn't seem like near as much fun as the alternative, but what did she know?
"I have a lot of planning to do in a short time." He smiled, his eyes alight with a peculiar warmth.
Laura's confusion grew as she took in his pleased expression. "Planning?"
"Yes, Miss Parrington. If the announcement is to go out in tomorrow's papers, I will have to be quick about it."
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, planting her hands on her hips. Her voice revealed the frustration she felt at having been too quickly pulled out of her cloud of lust.
"Our engagement, of course," said as if to a child, his hands coming up to stroke her collarbone. He was still wearing that infuriating smile, the one she didn't quite know what to make of.
"What?" Laura stepped back. "Who said anything about being engaged?" she asked in horror.
Rothstone looked her straight in the eyes. "You said yes, remember?"
Laura spluttered, "I-I said yes to-to, you know, whatever was going on a moment ago, but not that!" she waved her arms in outrage. As soon as she said it, she knew she sounded like a lady of the lowest character, and her cheeks turned red.
Eyes that seemed black as night in the shadows bore into hers. His voice was utterly calm and patient as he stepped toward her and put his fingertips gently on the bloom of her hips. Laura put her hands on his to brush them away, but she couldn't make herself push him back. "If you want what I can give you," he told her, pausing to let his eyes linger on her mouth. She sucked in as his fingers dug into her sides, the tips pressing against where her sensitive hip bones were. He then looked back up directly into her own wide eyes. "-you have to marry me."
The instant he said it, her heart began a campaign to beat itself right out of her chest. She swallowed the cotton out of her mouth and licked her dry lips. "I was right," she said shakily. "You are insane. You belong in Bedlam, Rothstone."
He chuckled and moved his hand upwards to let it rest on her upper chest. "Do you know how I know you want it as much as I do?"
"Not in the least." She tried to pull his hand away, but he kept it there with his superior strength.
"Because your heart is flying like a hummingbird. And that tells me you are afraid of what you want, little one. You want it so much that you're afraid you might give into it, and that could be disastrous." His hands massaged the velvet covering her hips.
As he spoke them, Laura knew the words were true. She would rather sleep on a bed of nails tonight than admit it to him, however. "You have no idea what you're talking about." Her voice sounded false and snooty, even to her.
He chuckled, the sounds coming from low in his throat. "Don't I?" He leaned in close to her, pressing his torso along the entire length of hers.
She felt his hardness press into her stomach, the unfamiliar pressure alarming. Heart pounding in her throat, she couldn't meet his eyes. Her cheeks were turning a wild red, the telling heat adding to her discomfort. She didn't know what to do with her hands, but she could feel his fingers creeping up her ribcage to brush the underside of her breasts. She jumped at the ticklish feel of his thumb causing ripples of awareness through her abdomen. Eventually, she placed her hands on his chest, partly because she didn't know where else to put them, and partly because she wanted to feel the firm expanse of muscle that spread across it.
"Will you let me kiss you again?" he asked, his voice lowered to a rough whisper.
Sometime in the last few moments, as his body had molded to hers and his hands began to touch her, her brain had stopped functioning. She could only nod as his mouth closed the distance between them, pressing an almost reverent kiss on her lips.
Before long, however, Rothstone couldn't seem to keep the kiss a chaste one, and he pressed harder, his tongue seeking entrance. Laura didn't even begin to think of stopping him, her mind a blank slate on which he wrote with flicks and strokes of his tongue on her own. Her back was against the cold, paneled wall, his hands gripping her small ribcage with almost crushing force, as if he wanted to mold her, shape her into some wanton being for his own pleasure.
But it was Laura who was experiencing the most wonderful, dark feeling she had never thought could exist while he delved into her mouth over and over, tangling their tongues and forcing her lips to cling to his in utter surrender. She could not come up from this, could not break the surface of these unknown waters in which she was submerged. He had her exactly where he wanted her, and she knew it.
He let out a small throaty sound into her mouth and took her lower lip between his teeth, biting down softly. Laura liked the tiny pinch of pain that his teeth elicited from her lips, his animalistic passion only heightening the heady pleasure swirling in her veins. He skimmed his hands down her torso, landing on her hips again and rubbed his lip on hers as if to soothe the hurt, but she didn't need it. She drew him back into her warm mouth, wanting to feel his tongue wrap around the tip of hers. He obliged her, letting himself wring more intensity from their melding.
Laura knew she never wanted this to end. She could feel herself changing into another person, one that was so frenzied she didn't care what he did with her, as long as he didn't stop. The ache in her lower belly became more acute as she pressed herself further against him, welcoming the friction of his hips against her own. His body seemed to battle for more contact with hers, pinning her more firmly between himself and the wall. One knee edged between her legs, forcing them to part, but the motion seemed right. It allowed him to come even closer, the firm lines of him grinding into her softness with a deep pressure that radiated satisfying surges of pleasure outward. Every second was thrilling, the way he knew exactly where to go, how to touch, and how to make her desperate to go deeper with him into these unknown waters.
Rothstone abruptly shoved himself back from her, his breaths coming in ragged bursts. He curled his hands in on themselves to still the tremors that gave his true condition away.
Laura immediately felt bereft, cold and empty without his weight against her.
Though the room was dark, his eyes glowed with a liquid feverishness that gave her a brief stab of satisfaction at knowing he was almost as far gone as she.
Almost.
But he had shown her again just show weak she was when it came to him. He had proved his point. She wanted him, all of him, and she didn't see how she could ever not want this man now that she knew how he could drag her down into this spiral of heavy desire with just a simple touch.
Anger at his callous manipulation bubbled up in her chest. She turned away with a cry that was half anguished growl, not wanting to look at his face. She was disgusted with him, but also with herself for letting him take control of her so easily.
"Laura-"
"Don't!" She was shaking, she was so angry, or regretful, or whatever it was, it suddenly felt like the world was collapsing into a snarled mess of things too big to understand. Covering her face with her hands, she struggled to make sense of what had just happened. What was he about? All of a sudden, he had mentioned marriage. Marriage! Was that how it worked? Just like that? People kissed, and then they decided it was time to marry?
"Laura, please, just look at me," Rothstone took a step closer to her.
She took in a shuddering breath and turned towards him, lowering her hands into fists at her sides. "So? Should we discuss what to name our children now? What colors our drawing room will be?"
"No, I-" He reached for her, but she took a step back, shaking her head. He dropped his hands and stood still in front of her, the shadows from the candlelight flickering over his face. "I only wanted to show you what it could be like for us."
Laura didn't know how to reply. He had shown her, quite thoroughly. And was right about her. She did want it, all that he offered, more than she could admit. "I have to get back," she blurted, and then realized that was very true. How long had she been gone from Georgiana's presence? Five minutes? Twenty? She honestly didn't know how long they had been here in this room, doing things for which she would be ostracized from society if anyone knew.
He stared at her a moment more, and then nodded. "I will wait a few minutes before leaving," he said flatly, breaking eye contact.
A tightening in her chest almost made Laura say something else, anything, to alleviate the emotionless look from his face. But what was there to say? So she nodded and brushed past him, peering into the hallway before hurrying out into it and back to the foyer of the Opera house, dress intact, as if nothing had happened at all.