The Lamplighter's Love (6 page)

Mary tried to ignore the irony that the
public’s perception had actually changed faster than the true
practices within the guild hall. Clever management of information
and publicity, she now realized, had affected this. People had been
trained to think of the guild as a model of progressive thinking,
and an example of what was capable in a truly egalitarian system.
And true, there had been some changes. The second in command was a
woman now, a relatively young one at that compared to some of the
other elders. But Mary had to wonder if Master Temple really had
less power as Second Elder than she’d had as a master of her own
workshop. Certainly she seemed to hold no sway with Master Smith or
the rest of the elders. And when it came to the really important
decisions, their thinking was as old and dusty as it ever was.

Alone in the small room, Mary unfurled her
one pretty dress from the valise and snapped it out in front of
her, pleased to see that it hadn’t wrinkled badly. She was out of
her heavy uniform in a twinkling, and couldn’t help but enjoy the
curiously light and airy feeling of the smooth blue bombazine as
she fastened it over her underthings. The soft silk and wool felt
like gossamer after years spent in thick, protective canvas.

A quick glance at the glass confirmed that
her hair was a disaster. The tidy twist at the back of her head had
started to shed pins, and her hair had dried into fair, wispy curls
around her face where the snow had first frozen and then melted.
But time only permitted her to tweak the bun roughly back into
place with a few more hastily placed pins. The rest would do, she
supposed. It would have to do.

Just as this single night would have to do,
for it would be her last with Nicholas.

Mary had wept and railed and racked her
brain for ideas, but in the end she saw no way out of her dilemma.
She had only two viable options. The first was to take the job as
offered, knowing that it spelled the end of any bright future for
her. The second was to return home in shame and hope that her
parents would listen long enough to forgive her. She might find
work there in the village. Perhaps she might even make some widowed
farmer a suitable enough wife, after the scandal had died down.
Assuming the farmer was too desperate to be choosy, and would agree
to marry a woman who’d been publicly branded a whore.

The one thing she could not do was agree to
marry Nicholas. Not now, after learning what she had at the meeting
with the Elders. Because he would find out too, all the details of
the exciting new post she’d been offered. Mary cursed herself a
thousand times over for not accepting his proposal at once, as
she’d yearned to do. She’d wanted nothing more than to fling
herself into Nicholas’ arms, but hesitated because she thought she
should give them both a little time to think. Surely that was the
wise and mature decision? They had both acted rashly, and Mary was
anxious that Nicholas had also been speaking rashly, and he might
come to regret such an impulsive offer once he’d been out in the
world again awhile.

After their moments of blissful madness,
she’d been determined to take her next steps with a bit more
deliberation and care. Now that choice seemed less like wisdom and
more like the rankest folly. If she accepted him now, he would
never know if she had married him for love or simply to escape an
untenable position at the guild. They might be happy or not, but
there would always be that inkling of doubt.

And what might become of the city if
Amberherst were left in sole control of the Chair? He had always
been competent, workmanlike, but never showed the astonishing
facility with figures that Nicholas or even Mary had. Add to that
his resentment, if he were left to do all the work when he had
planned to do so little, and all of London might suffer from his
wrath or at the very least his negligence. She couldn’t help but
recall the Bristol lamplighter, and imagine how much worse things
might be in London if the great city was similarly attacked from
within.

There were other lamplighters in training,
she knew, at Lampworks across the Commonwealth. And nearly all of
them were men. Mary reasoned that by removing herself from the
equation, she might at least force the Elders to reconsider
investing Amberherst with so much power. For surely they would
never dare to make the same humiliating offer to a male lamplighter
that they had to her. If they had to replace Mary, they would have
to do so by finding a replacement who could truly take over the
Lamplighter’s job as well as the title. Bad luck for Amberherst,
but good luck for London.

She’d thought on this, and for a moment her
heart had brightened, thinking she had found a way out. A way to
stay with Nicholas. But then she recalled the fear, the terror that
Amberherst would make good on his threat even if Mary’s refusal of
the position were followed by news of her impending marriage to the
newest peer of the realm. It wasn’t a matter of her simply being
compromised, and the marriage being required because of it.
Amberherst would in essence be accusing her of prostitution, of
having been the Lamplighter’s guild-subsidized lightskirt for two
years, even before she came of age.

It almost didn’t matter whether the truth
came out later, once Amberherst’s version of events hit the press.
Mary was old enough to know that people would assume there was no
smoke without fire. They would believe the worst and later be
suspicious of even the most credible evidence to the contrary. If
Amberherst spread this vile rumor, he would destroy not only Mary’s
reputation and prospects, but also Nicholas’ good name, before he
had even started on the bright future he might otherwise enjoy.

It was a future she had hoped, for a few
glorious hours, to share with him. But now, all she could have was
one more night. And she planned to make the most of it.

He arrived at the door to the private dining
room promptly at eight, and stood in the doorway blinking at her
for several seconds, looking startled by her appearance.

“Nicholas, are you coming into the room?”
she asked at last, puzzled.

“Oh! Yes, of course. I just . . . the blue,
it suits you. Even if it is the color of the sky. It matches your
eyes too. I never even realized. But of course they’re blue.”

She smiled at his seeming bewilderment and
rose to help him out of his snow- bedecked coat, and his scarf that
was crusted with frost. “Should I have warned you I wouldn’t be in
uniform?”

“It might have been wise,” he confessed.
“You’re stunning enough even in your workshop togs. This is nearly
too much.” He put his icy hands on her shoulders, drawing her
closer. “But I’ll adjust.”

His kiss was icy, too, but still managed to
raise Mary’s heart rate almost immediately. When she gasped for
air, he pressed his tongue gently into her mouth, and she found it
was hot and soft, a delicious contrast to the chill of his
lips.

Footsteps in the hall alerted them in time
to distance themselves from one another, and Nicholas made a
production of draping his coat and scarf over a chair by the little
hearth as the serving girl laid down two bowls of thick stew.

“Wine?” Mary asked, gesturing toward the
bottle and glass. The innkeeper had opened and poured for her, but
she wasn’t sure if she was meant to pour for Nicholas.

It was something a countess would know, she
thought. Just as well she wasn’t going to be one of those. They
probably didn’t frequent establishments like the Pig and Sprocket
anyway.

He filled his glass and then leaned back in
his seat, sipping casually as though he dined out every day.

“I’ve taken a room for the night,” she
offered quietly.

After a moment, the Lamplighter nodded. “I
was going to ask if you wanted me to. I don’t really know what I’m
about, here.”

“You know more than I do,” she pointed
out.

“True. Unfortunately true.”

Mary tried not to let the giggle escape, but
after a few seconds of mighty struggle, she gave up and it burst
forth, soon to bloom into full-blown laughter. Nicholas was not far
behind, and they both ended in tears, winding down their bout of
spontaneous hilarity with weak gasps as the fit slowly ebbed.

“We were never prepared for this sort of
thing,” she complained, holding her aching sides.

“It’s true. Nobody teaches you how to
conduct a tryst,” Nicholas agreed, slugging back a mouthful of
wine. “I do love your laugh, though, Mary.”

“We sounded like a pair of escapees from
Bedlam.”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his
hands. “I did, perhaps. You sounded like an angel. And I’ll never
hear otherwise.”

She blushed and grinned, finding herself
entranced by the very fine wrinkles that formed at the corners of
the Lamplighter’s eyes when he smiled. He looked warmer, more human
today. And not just around the eyes.

“Have you been spending more time outside,
in the sun?”

“Not that there has been much sun. But yes,
I have. While you and Amberherst have been taking these longer
shifts.”

The mention of Amberherst recalled Mary’s
fear and anger, the despair she felt over the decision she was
faced with. She wanted to talk about anything but him, anything but
the guild and its machinery, its machinations.

“Tell me where you’ve gone.”

And he did, regaling her throughout dinner
with his tales of learning to hail a taxicab, his trip to Hyde
Park, the visit to the tailor he’d been obliged to consult for
clothing since he would need more than his guild uniform and
decade-old trousers and the like to meet his anticipated social
obligations.

“You’ll be next, you’ll see what it’s like,”
he warned her at one point. Mary steered him to another topic,
trying to think only of that night. The future, whatever it held,
could wait.

The publican almost certainly knew that the
lady master and the gentleman had gone up the back stairs to her
room together following their meal. But he turned a blind eye,
saying nothing if indeed he did know, and they made their way to
the room unhindered. It occurred to Mary, as she fumbled with the
key and finally gave it over to Nicholas, whose hands were
steadier, that this would be their first time alone. Truly alone,
behind a locked door, with no great danger of interruption and only
one very clear purpose in mind.

Little wonder her hands were trembling. She
felt like a fallen woman, a wanton, and the worst part was, she was
thoroughly enjoying the forbidden thrill of it all. Nicholas seemed
cautious, as if he worried that he might frighten her with a
too-sudden advance. But for Mary, the time for caution was over.
She approached him as soon as the door was latched, looped her arms
around his and lifted up on her toes to kiss him, taking him by
surprise.

He recovered quickly, however, taking
control of the kiss as his nimble fingers unfastened the buttons
down the front of her dress at lightning speed. The pretty fabric
fell away, revealing the same underthings he’d seen before. He
didn’t stop this time. He peeled away her layers, chemise and
corset and drawers, until only her thick woolen stockings were
left.

“I think I like that,” he remarked, holding
her a little away from him to admire the sight of her, so nearly
nude.

“I look ridiculous,” Mary protested, but her
words melted away when Nicholas pressed his lips over one
cold-tightened nipple, warming it with his tongue until it grew
even harder.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered over her
skin, letting his lips map her sternum, her clavicles, the subtle
indentation where her shoulder met her neck.

It was too much. Mary moaned and reached for
Nicholas’ shirt, nearly tearing it in her zeal to get it off. She
felt a ravenous urge to touch him, to feel his skin against
hers.

His trousers, a bit too loose on him, fell
away easily, but hung up around his ankles until he had hopped and
struggled and finally wrenched his boots off his feet. She scarcely
had time to admire his naked form before he lifted her by the waist
with unexpected ease and carried her to the bed. Sitting her on the
edge, he knelt before her and slowly, with infinite care and a
great deal of extraneous fondling, removed her stockings to bare
her completely.

It was as erotic as anything he’d done yet.
Mary was squirming where she sat by the time he was done.

“Patience, my love,” the Lamplighter teased
as he joined her on the bed, using his body to press her back until
she was lying beneath him, her thighs trapped between his.

“We have hours yet.”

She didn’t want him in hours, she wanted him
that instant. But if she must wait, she would have to keep her mind
occupied in some other way than by wondering what he would do next,
when and how he would touch her.

“Nicholas, the other day, in the Chair,” she
began, knowing he would understand which day she meant, “why did
you strap me in like that? And put the screens up? What were you
afraid I would do?”

His abdomen bumped against hers when he
chuckled, and his cock brushed against her pelvis in a way that
made her buck up into the pressure before she could stop
herself.

Nicholas took her hands in his, pressing
them firmly down against the bed as though it would help him
remember why he’d restrained her hands the first time. “I suppose I
was afraid you might run off, or that I would be so terrible at it
that you would push me away out of sheer aggravation. And if you
did tell me no, I wanted to give myself a little time to get a head
start before you came after me with murder in mind.” He kissed the
corner of her mouth, smiling wryly. “I do apologize for being so
graceless though. I never meant for you to feel as though I would
force you, if you did refuse me.”