but the boy was a fool. Had Avery ever been that innocent? ‘A very exclusive place I know. Want to go?’
Giles nodded eagerly.
Craddock frowned, but let them leave without another word. No doubt he assumed that Avery had another plan to get his fingers on the boy’s money, so he would be receiving his share later.
Outside in the brisk evening air, Avery pushed Giles into a hackney. ‘Where do you live.’
Giles looked puzzled. ‘I am lodging in Golden Square. Number three. Why?’
Avery gave the address to the driver.
‘I thought we were going to a brothel?’
‘You are going to a place where you don’t have to pay for wine and you have clean sheets waiting. You will thank me tomorrow. And so will your parents.’
The boy looked chagrined at the reminder of his parents and then grinned broadly. ‘Won’t Pater be proud when I tell him I won. After all his warnings about gambling hells, too.’
‘Only if you refrain from going to another,’ Avery said drily. ‘You were lucky tonight.’
‘I know. And besides, tonight was my last night here. I am due home tomorrow. I’m on my way down from Oxford. I can’t delay any longer or Papa will worry. He’s not a bad old chap, but he does fuss so.’
Very lucky indeed. Avery wished he had a papa who cared enough to fuss over him.
‘Buy a nice gift for your mama and buy a new waistcoat for yourself and go home.’
The boy sank back against the squabs, his expression thoughtful. ‘Thank you, sir. I will.’
The boy might be naive, but he wasn’t stupid. Avery wondered if he would have been so sensible at that age. He stepped back and the hackney coach clattered off into the night.
He strode down the street and turned into the alley that ran behind Mrs Greystoke’s shop. There was an odd feeling in his gut. A sense he might be making the worst mistake of his life. The gold plate on the door identified the residence of a Mr Arnold Thrumby. He hesitated. Did he really want to do this?
Her expression, the instant acceptance of his rejection, swam before his eyes once again. If nothing else, he could not allow her to continue to believe she was not worthy of his attentions. Damnation and how the hell was he to do that? He’d just have to play it by ear. The way he always did.
He knocked.
After a few long moments, the peephole opened. ‘Who be knocking at respectable folks’ door at this time of the night?’ a deep voice grumbled.
‘A visitor for Mrs Greystoke. Lord Avery. I am expected.’
Hopefully the lady would not give him the lie. Though he would not put it past her to deny him entry. She was not like any other woman he had ever known. Which accounted for some of his fascination.
Footsteps retreated and a little later returned. ‘She says you best come in.’
The elderly porter opened the door and stood back. ‘At the end of the hall there.’ He indicated with his thumb. He locked and bolted the door and sat back down at his post.
So much for her safety. The porter needed a swift kick somewhere it would hurt for letting a man visit the lady in the middle of the night.
The door to Mrs Greystoke’s apartment stood ajar, allowing a small bar of light to escape into the corridor. He pushed it open and stepped inside.
She was sitting at the kitchen table facing the door, wearing an old brown woollen dressing gown pulled tight around her form. A heavy rope of brown hair curled over her shoulder and rested on her generous right breast. At her throat, a fragment of lace peeped out from the enveloping gown and skimmed the hollow of her throat. The scrap of frill was a nod to her femininity. And it was the most erotic sight he had ever beheld.
Slowly he raised his gaze to her face. ‘Mrs Greystoke. Good of you to see me at this late hour.’
‘Lord Avery?’
Her voice held a question, though her face was perfectly calm. A calmness she wore like armour to hide her worry. But the tremble in the hand that clutched her robe close gave her away.
He shouldn’t have come. ‘I don’t suppose you would offer me a cup of tea?’
She stared at him for a long moment.
He really should not have come.
She rose from her chair, tall, magnificent, composed. ‘Very well.’
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