Chapter Nine
Iris stepped into the offices of her family’s solicitor, Mr. Fernish. He’d sent her a note earlier that morning requesting a private meeting with her, and she’d come straight away.
“Lady Iris, thank you for coming on such short notice,” Mr. Fernish said.
She shook the man’s hand and sat across the desk from him. “Of course. Is there a problem with our accounts?”
He frowned. “No, nothing such as that. I thought it time, though, that we discuss the inevitable.”
“Jasper,” she said. She released a heavy breath.
“Precisely. Eventually he is going to come to me and demand to be the one in charge of your coffers,” Mr. Fernish said.
“Yes, I know. And you will have to give him that control, even though he will likely lose it all at the card tables.” So far, her plan to have Merritt teach her to be a gentleman so that he could see how ridiculous his advice was had failed spectacularly. Instead, it had given her the opportunity and, frankly, the desire to behave badly herself. Perhaps that meant that Merritt had been right all along, that all men acted this way. It was just that some were better at hiding it than others.
“Yes, I have seen your requests for payments to be sent to a variety of clubs around town.” Mr. Fernish smiled warmly at her. “Lady Iris, I have known you since you were but a girl, and you have done a remarkable job with your family’s finances. You’ve made smart investments, and they have built upon your father’s previous wealth, leaving you quite flush, as they say. Though I could likely lose my certificate for doing so, I have placed a part of that fortune in an account for you. One that Lord Nickerson is not able to touch.” He tilted his head. “Though, if you marry, then the funds would be controlled by your husband.”
“I have no desire to marry, Mr. Fernish. And thank you.” Having that security meant that someday she’d be able to travel and research her book, teach women in other parts of the country and continent how to defend themselves, take care of themselves. But none of that could happen until she was certain that Jasper wouldn’t destroy himself in the midst of his wild living.
“I wanted to let you know this in person, rather than in a letter, in case your brother reads your post,” Mr. Fernish said.
She nodded. “And I know that someday he’ll figure out that I don’t have the authority to control the purse strings, but until he discovers that, I suppose I’ll keep approving his debt payments.”
She left the office feeling bested. Arriving home didn’t offer any consolation.
Upon entering her bedchamber, she found Jasper digging through her belongings.
“Jasper, what are you doing?”
He started at the sound of her voice and spun to face her.
“I asked you a question.”
“I need some funds,” he said.
Her heart wilted. “And you thought to simply take them from me?”
“You weren’t home for me to ask.”
But something told her even if she had been, he would have found a way to skirt her and scrounge for the monies himself.
“I do not keep any funds in here. What do you need them for?” She held up a hand. “And before you think to lie to me, know that I am fully aware of your gaming efforts.”
“Very well. I need them to pay a debt.”
She searched his face looking for regret or remorse, but found only terse irritation. “How much do you require this time?”
“Fifteen pounds.”
“Jasper,” she whispered. Where had she gone so wrong with him? Had she loved him too much, coddled him? Or was this simply what happened when boys went off to school? “Follow me.” She led him down to her parlor and withdrew a handful of bank notes from her writing desk. “This is the last time.”
“What?”
“I shall remove every piece of money from this house today so you do not have to resort to sneaking around to find some.”
“You can’t do that.”
No, she probably couldn’t do it, at least not legally. But thus far he had not called her bluff. Further proof he had no skills for gambling. She handed the bank notes out to him. “The last time, Jasper. Am I understood?”
He snatched the money out of her hand without another word and stormed out of the room.
She fell back on the settee and closed her eyes. It seemed as if everything was falling apart. Tonight was her big charade and she had yet to convince Merritt to cancel the advice articles, though he hadn’t printed another one since their wager. So perhaps that meant she was winning, and he just hadn’t admitted it yet. If only that meant that her brother’s bad behavior was coming to an end.
…
Merritt stepped down from his rig on the appointed street and glanced around for his host or hostess. The notice he’d received hadn’t been quite so clear on the details of where to meet and what time. At the moment, he was searching for a carriage with the crest of a gold eagle holding a bunch of grapes in its beak. He’d already researched that particular crest and found it nowhere, which likely meant it was a fake.
This wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with a cryptic source. The level of secrecy never truly indicated the level of truth, so he always took the time to further investigate each story he was given.
When he’d initially put out that he was looking for information on a group of women schooled in the art of fighting and potentially thwarting criminals. Seeing Iris move so swiftly and expertly, he suspected her instruction had been quite substantial. And he highly doubted that a man had trained her, so it seemed logical that she wasn’t the only woman in London with those skills.
He spotted the carriage as soon as it rounded the corner. It came to a stop directly in front of him, and he opened the door and climbed inside. Seated on the opposite bench was a short, pleasantly plump older woman. She smiled broadly as he sat.
“Lord Ashby?” she asked.
He bowed over her hand. “And you are?”
She grinned. “You may call me Lady X.” The carriage lurched forward as it rumbled down the street.
“Very well. Now then, you contacted me claiming to have information that I seek.”
“Yes, about the Ladies of Virtue and their true purpose.”
“They are a group of do-gooders, raising funds for orphans and the like,” he said.
“They do much, much more.” She eyed him for a moment, then her brows furrowed. “Are you not going to write anything down?”
“There is no need. I prefer to simply have a conversation with people, and I’ll remember any details that are important.” He leaned back in his seat and eyed her. She was quite obviously wearing some manner of disguise, though he was uncertain to what extent, other than the wig that made her hair gray. Her ridiculous hat, fully equipped with a fake bird, sat artfully atop the gray curls in such a way that most people would not notice the charade. “Tell me, Lady X, how is it that you know the secret details of this organization?”
“Perhaps I am one of them.” She shrugged. “Or perhaps I merely have an inside contact.”
“What precisely do you know?”
She gave him a tight smile. “The Ladies of Virtue, despite its outward appearance, is in truth an organization of trained ladies who claim to be ridding the streets of London from nuisance crime and bad behavior.”
“Bad behavior?” he asked.
“Pickpocketing and street thievery. Some have interceded on behalf of women who are being mistreated by the men in their lives.” She scoffed. “As if that is their place. Others have assisted in getting off the street girls that have been earning their livings on the back, as it were. Then they bring those harlots into good households and try to pass them off as scullery maids. That sort of behavior.”
“And who trains these ladies?”
“No names,” Lady X said. “Suffice to say, some of the most respected women in Society are part of their ranks.”
Yes, he knew one of them. And likely her friends that he’d met as well. “Can I not simply ask for a roster of the group, considering they are a well-known altruistic organization?”
“Yes, but it would be incomplete. There are measures of protection in place. I could give you a list of every member.” She paused a moment. “Perhaps I shall do precisely that on another day. But for now, let us stick with the what rather than the who.”
“Very well. It would seem that you take offense, in some regard, at what these women do.”
“It’s ridiculous and dangerous the way they go about, overstepping their bounds, behaving in such unfeminine ways,” she continued. “They quite obviously do not know their place.”
“My other source says differently. That they are focused on doing good in Society.” Iris hadn’t said much of anything, but he knew enough about her to extrapolate.
“Well, I suppose they have done some good. But do you not see how unnatural it is that they do these things instead of trusting the men in their lives to offer protection?”
“Actually, it sounds to me like they’re rather brave.”
“Well, it sounds to me as if you fancy this other source of yours.”
He didn’t even bother responding to that comment. He knew he did not fancy Iris any way but simple, lustful desire. This woman, whoever she truly was, held significant anger toward the Ladies of Virtue. Had they wronged her in some way?
He wanted more information. More about this woman in disguise. More about the secret works of the Ladies of Virtue. But he knew Iris would tell him nothing. Perhaps once the story printed, more people would step forward, and he’d uncover the complete truth behind the Ladies of Virtue.
…
Iris eyed the theater and did her best not to appear as damned eager as she felt. Her entire person felt alive with nerve endings. She was out in the midst of London’s most elite, and she was wearing trousers and posing as a man. The other night at the gaming club had been a trial. Tonight…tonight she took more risk. There were a greater number of people who could recognize her, including her aunt and brother, if they were in attendance, though she hadn’t seen her aunt in a few months. But also the members of the Ladies of Virtue—she knew many of them would be in attendance tonight.
She controlled her breathing and stood behind Merritt as he spoke softly to the other man he’d brought with him, his assistant, Rand. Merritt had explained that having another seemingly unrecognizable man in the theater box would assist Iris in blending in. They hadn’t loitered long in the entrance of the theater, Instead he’d quickly ushered her upstairs to his box. She’d been to the theater before, but had always sat among the masses down below. This, though, gave her a much better view of the stage, not that she would pay much attention to that tonight. She adored Shakespeare, yet she felt certain she’d be far too distracted to enjoy the play.
“Merritt,” a woman’s sultry voice purred. “I did not know you’d be coming tonight.”
Iris turned to find the owner of the voice and was met with the embodiment of femininity. The woman was, in a word, gorgeous. Unlike Iris’s brash red hair, this woman boasted warm auburn locks that accented her flawless ivory complexion. She had sultry brown eyes and a perfectly shaped, seemingly-natural red mouth. And the way she held those eyes on Merritt made Iris burn from the inside. That was possessiveness. Iris might be naive, but there was no mistaking that.
“Jessica,” Merritt said. He bent over her hand formally, but Iris was almost certain that he did not kiss the woman’s gloved hand.
“Are you not going to introduce me to your companions?” Jessica asked.
“I believe you know Mr. Lockwood,” Merritt said.
“Oh yes,” Jessica said, glancing at Rand, though she didn’t bother to inquire about his well-being. “But this young gentleman, I’m certain you’ve been hiding him.” And she turned her sultry eyes onto Iris.
For a brief moment, Iris forgot who she was and where she was and that she was pretending to be someone else entirely. But the rules still applied, and as a gentleman she could not fail to introduce herself to the woman—not that she appeared all that concerned with propriety.
“Jessica, leave the boy alone,” Merritt said. “He is new to the city.”
“He’s adorable.” She winked at Iris. “Please introduce us.”
“Very well. May I introduce John Benford. John, may I present Jessica Franklin, the widow Lady Wilkens,” Merritt said. Iris noted the tick of a muscle in his jawline. He was not pleased with their visitor.
Iris remembered to bow over the woman’s hand, and gave her a tight grin. “Pleasure to meet you,” she said, lowering her voice.
“Perfectly charming. You will do quite well in this town, I do believe,” Jessica said. She winked again. “Do feel free to call upon me if you need any guidance about town.” She moved back over to Merritt and ran her hand down his arm, a touch far too familiar for Iris’s taste. “I suppose I should get back to my seat before I’m stranded up here when the lights go down. Unless you want to invite me to join.”
“Good evening, Jessica,” Merritt said, and he positioned himself between her and Iris.
Iris watched Jessica walk away and wondered if that sort of ease of sensual behavior came from being a widow or if some women were simply born more seductive.
The lights dimmed, and they returned to their seats as the play began.
“I have never seen this particular play,” Iris said when the first act finished.
“Nor read it?” he asked.
“No, though I do enjoy the Bard.”
“I suspect you’ll enjoy the next half,” Merritt said.
Rand said something to Merritt, then disappeared out of the box to retrieve refreshments.
“That woman who was in here earlier,” Iris said tentatively. “Were you in love with her?”
“Jessica and I had a brief affair, but no, I was never in love with her,” he said.
“Then why have an affair?”
“The goings-on between a man and a woman in the bedroom have little to do with love,” he said.
His words wounded her. It was foolish, she recognized that, but still his acknowledgment that any affection he’d shared with her had meant nothing to him. She was a passing entertainment, she supposed. But certainly, if it could be such for men, it could be that way for women as well.
“Did she love you?” Iris asked.
“I do not believe Jessica has ever loved anyone other than herself,” Merritt said harshly.
So, there were women who were able to indulge in physical pleasures without losing their hearts. Part of her wished she was just Iris tonight so that she could go to this Jessica seeking the secret to protecting her heart. But that would most assuredly expose her identity. And the night was nearly complete. Only an hour or two more and she would have successfully pulled off the charade of the century. And no one save she and Merritt, and their closest friends, would know the truth.
“Have you ever been in love?” she found herself asking.
He was quiet a moment, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “I fancied myself in love once, when I was much younger.”
“And?”
“And I asked her to marry me, but she declined.”
“Whyever would she have done that?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
“I was untitled at the time, and though I had quite the fortune, it was not enough for her. She was country gentry and determined to marry up. She claimed to have feelings for me, but she couldn’t lower her standards so far.”
“She said that?”
“Not in so many words, but the message was quite clear.” He glanced down at the playbill.
“Did she ever marry?”
“Indeed she did. She is Viscountess Knolls.”
Iris had never met the woman, but she knew precisely who she was. Tall and beautiful, with lush curves and luminous dark hair—aside from their height, she and the viscountess had nothing in common, save Merritt.
The lights dimmed again, and the second act began. Iris did her best to pay attention to the story unfolding on the stage, especially since the character of Portia was currently masquerading as a man. Though, she had arguably better reasons than Iris did. Yet Iris kept thinking about Merritt and Lady Knolls, and how he’d once loved her, or thought he had.
…
They’d successfully reached the carriage without having to interact with anyone else. Once they were settled and on their way, Merritt cleared his throat. “Though I still do not agree with you about my articles and their potential for damage, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that there are those who have missed that the intention was satirical, not to give legitimate advice.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“I’ve decided to discontinue the series.”
“Truly?”
He caught her glance, and her eyes glistened with tears. It felt as if she’d reached in and squeezed his heart. And in that moment, with her gratitude shining desperately in her eyes, he’d never wanted her more.
He cupped her chin and leaned in. His lips pressed against hers, and it was as if the world stopped. She was pliant and soft beneath him, had even leaned in closer. He teased at her bottom lip with his teeth and then his tongue until she parted and allowed him entrance.
He kept things slow and gentle, seductively worshiping her mouth. When he heard a sigh escape her lips, deep satisfaction and desire surged through his body, and he tightened his grasp on her.
She met his intensity, climbing atop him and straddling his lap. Her tongue slid against his, and he groaned into her mouth. Lust pulsed through him as her hand clutched his shoulder. He could kiss her forever. Only Iris.
He wanted to press harder against her body, but he knew if he let it go on much longer, kissing wouldn’t be the only thing done. He’d already risked her reputation enough for one day.
Finally, he ended the kiss and set her back on her carriage bench. Her brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.
“I believe the carriage has stopped.”