Lady Derring Takes a Lover - Julie Anne Long Page 0,31
see at once that he was making an internal adjustment, a reassessment of some sort, and it wasn’t a flattering one.
It occurred to her all at once that she would not want to play cards with this man.
He bowed, gracefully as any courtier.
“Well, then. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Derring. I am Captain Tristan Hardy.”
The name was a bit of a surprise. But it fit him, all of it. Tristan, with its air of implied heroism and tragedy, and Hardy, because anything with “hard” in it would suit. As Dot had said, not a spare anything on the man. One got the sense bullets would bounce right off.
The captain part probably explained that air of implacable, insufferable authority. As though he moved through the world with ease in part because he knew destiny wouldn’t dare countermand his orders.
“What brings you back to The Grand Palace on the Thames, Captain Hardy?”
His small, intimate smile removed the bones from her knees.
“So you do remember me, Lady Derring.”
She ignored the smile and remembered that her blood was blue, even if keys jingled at her hips now.
“My maid Dorothy informs me that you are seeking a room to let, Captain Hardy. Would you care to have a seat to discuss it?” She gestured at the settee.
“There’s to be a discussion? I thought these sorts of things were usually dispensed with a yes or a no.”
He said it almost lightly. But he sat down. Immediately his presence elevated the settee, with its small burn carefully patched and the nick in one of its legs, to something like a throne.
“We like to be certain all of our treasured guests are comfortable here and that new guests are a proper fit and willing to abide by the rules, so we ask a few questions.”
“Treasured, are they?” he said smoothly. “I’ve long aspired to be treasured.”
“All guests who pay their bills, follow the rules, and do not disrupt the other guests are indeed treasured.”
He regarded her with those eyes which were all that was polite and yet she couldn’t shake the sensation that he could see right through her dress to her stays.
“There are rules?” he said with idle interest.
“Indeed. It’s hardly anarchy here at The Grand Palace on the Thames.”
“And how much does it cost to be treasured?”
“Twelve pounds per week.”
She decided this was his rate, no matter whether he took a small or a large room. The two extra pounds were a surcharge for arrogance.
“And what benefits do your guests receive in exchange for their princely twelve pounds?”
“Two truly fine meals a day, a libation in the morning or evening brought to your room if you should request one, a warm, tidy room, and mending of smaller items. For a small additional fee, we will engage a laundress if you need one, and we will bring a bath up to your room no more than once per week. We feel, all in all, it is a splendid value.”
“And of course the occasional musicale. One can’t put a price on that.”
“I’m so glad you agree.”
He smiled with vanishing swiftness, as though she’d said something charming.
She couldn’t imagine what.
“And guests with money to burn flock to your establishment, do they, Lady Derring? I could scarcely move through your foyer without brushing against a skirt or a greatcoat.”
Her breath caught. Why, the basta . . . !
It took her a moment to recover.
“Naturally our guests do not mill about the foyer, Captain. From this location our guests can go about their employment or enjoy all that London has to offer, such as . . . the theater.”
“Is the theater a euphemism for brothels?”
In the silence that followed, the fire gave a violent pop, as if in indignation.
Neither one of them blinked.
Well.
No man had ever said the word brothel to her in her twenty-six years of life—that, at least, was one of the advantages of being a countess. It just didn’t come up in polite conversation.
Captain Hardy was either trying to disconcert her, or he was trying to find out whether she indeed was running a brothel. To what end, she could not have guessed.
Still, it was only a word. And she was hardly a fragile flower. Flaming cheeks notwithstanding.
“I’m afraid I can’t provide you with a list of brothels, Captain,” she decided to say carefully. “If that’s your aim, and you’re attempting to speak in code. We aren’t that kind of establishment. Perhaps you ought to seek a different boardinghouse? Or are you in an indirect way attempting