Page 35 of A Perfect Gentleman

“I have found that one can learn almost anything if she’s willing to pay for it. I asked the man who operates the lift which was the finest bordello in London.”

“The man in the lift!”

“Yes. I thought about it a good deal. I couldn’t very well ask you, and it would have embarrassed David if I had asked him. I was sure Lord Cargaron would know—”

“Good God.”

“—but it would have caused gossip if I had asked him or, really, anyone in society. I thought someone who worked in a nice hotel where a number of gentlemen stay would probably have such information. He seemed the likeliest choice, as one sees him every time one goes up or down.”

“And he told you?” His voice hovered somewhere between dismay and fascination.

“He appeared somewhat taken aback,” Abigail admitted.

“Imagine that.”

“But when I opened my purse, he was happy to provide the names of several brothels. He assured me they were the best.”

“Please don’t tell me you went there.”

“Of course not. It would have caused a great deal of scandal if anyone found out, and since it is the sort of place aristocratic gentlemen frequent, it seemed all too likely I might run into someone I know.” She ignored the choked noise Graeme made. “I sent a note to the establishment, offering to pay the best rate if the woman came here to the hotel. She came cloaked; it was all very sub rosa.”

“What did she—what did you ask her?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. She was quite agreeable . . . once she got over her astonishment. She had expected a man. One would, I suppose.”

“Mm.”

“But when I explained what I wanted, she was happy to help me. I asked her how a visit would proceed and what she would do to . . . to encourage a man.” Heat flared in Graeme’s eyes, and Abby stopped, suddenly off-balance. She cleared her throat. “Fortunately, those things weren’t really necessary, for some of them were rather embarrassing.”

“Abigail . . .” His eyes dropped to her mouth, then down to the swell of her bosom above the blanket. He skimmed a finger along the blanket’s edge, his eyes darkening.

He was going to kiss her, Abby thought, her body tensing in anticipation. It seemed different here in the light of day, somehow more real. More genuine.

A knock sounded on the suite door. Graeme froze.

“Molly!” Abigail leaped out of bed, too alarmed to be concerned about revealing a glimpse of her naked body. She grabbed her dressing gown and wrapped it around her as she walked out. Pulling the bedroom door shut behind her, she hurried to the hall door, hastily tying her sash and running her hands back through her hair. A blush rose up her neck. Molly had been aware Abby was meeting Graeme here last night. As soon as she saw Abby, she would guess what had happened.

And though Molly was Abby’s maid, she was also the closest thing Abigail had ever had to a mother. It was embarrassing—and made even more so by the fact that Molly knew Graeme’s reluctance to consummate their marriage. However much Abby pretended to Graeme that she was matter-of-fact, she was not blasé about any of it, including talking to the woman from the brothel yesterday. In fact, if she let herself think about it, she would probably feel humiliated. And that was why she shoved it aside, as she had learned to do with many things for the past ten years.

She opened the door a few inches, blocking it. Molly stood there, looking grim, holding a tray in front of her as if it were a weapon.

“Molly, what are you doing here? I told you I would call you this morning when I was ready to dress.”

“I brought you breakfast.” Molly peered into her face. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine.” With a sigh, Abigail opened the door and grasped the tray, practically pulling it from her maid’s hands. “I’ll send for you when I need you.”

She closed the door before Molly could come up with any reasons to stay. Setting the tray of food down on the table, Abby returned to the bedroom. There she was disappointed to see that Graeme had gotten up and pulled on his trousers and shirt and was now in the process of putting on his socks and shoes. The intimate interlude of a few minutes earlier was gone.

Abigail paused, ill at ease now in her dressing gown, her hair doubtless a rat’s nest from sleeping. She pushed the heavy mass back over her shoulders. “Um, Molly brought some breakfast.”

“Oh.” He glanced up, then quickly back down at his shoes. “Thank you, that sounds very nice. But I should leave.” Graeme stood up, as armored in courtesy as ever. “It is no doubt late.”

“Yes. Of course.” She hid her disappointment with the small practiced smile that covered any number of social occasions. It would be better if he left, really. She still had a few things to do before she met her mysterious informant tonight, and the current situation was awkward. What was one to say in a moment like this? Thank you? Shall we make another appointment?

It was suddenly dispiritingly tawdry. Abby turned away, occupying herself with drawing back the draperies. Behind her she heard Graeme walk toward the door, then stop.

“Perhaps . . . that is, I thought that we . . .” Abby turned to face him, and he finished hurriedly, “I wasn’t sure if you had a social engagement this evening. I could escort you.”