“And you cannot see it except at the ball?”
Amber shook her head. “We tried, but she refused.”
“And issued an invitation instead?”
“Insisted, my lady.”
Lady Dunnamore blew out a breath. “My brother cannot afford to dismiss her. Her family is quite political.”
“So, I have come to understand.”
Amber waited a long moment as the woman seemed to inspect her from head to toe. She frowned as she did so, as if she were looking at a dirty child. “It won’t serve, Miss Gohar.”
“What?” Amber bristled. She would have said a great deal more, but the lady held up her hand.
“You cannot be the daughter of one of mother’s lost friends. Mother doesn’t have any lost friends. Enemies, perhaps, but she will never admit that she sponsored one of their children. You must be the younger sister of one of mine.” She frowned. “From Berlin, you say?”
She hadn’t said, but her brother had. “Yes, my lady.”
“And we can’t have any of that either. You will call me Diana, and you shall be Amber.”
The very idea that Lady Dunnamore would call her by her given name made her eyes water with gratitude. She was Thisbe to the aristocracy who frequented the Lyon’s Den. Daughter to her father and child to her grandfather. None but her dead mother had ever called her by her given name. Until now. Until Lady Dunnamore opened up her home and her closet to her. Even knowing that it was done for her brother did not dim the warmth in Amber’s heart. They were to be friends, and the enormity of that made every part of her flush with gratitude.
“You are too kind,” she managed.
“And you had best not be lying.”
“I am not,” she said firmly.
Diana smiled, then threw open her wardrobe. “Then let us see what can be done for tomorrow night.”
The answer was clear. A very great deal could be done. Lady Dunnamore had plenty of gowns and a maid who was a wizard with needle and thread. They barely noticed when her brother sent a message up that he had an errand and would return in a couple hours. Amber was measured as they discussed colors. They enjoyed a late tea while analyzing trends in fashion. In this, Amber had a great deal of knowledge thanks to the women who frequented the ladies’ half of the Lyon’s Den. And then they laughed together as Amber encouraged Diana to reminisce.
The woman was indeed lonely, and she needed little prodding to speak fondly of her childhood and especially her brother’s antics. He had been a lively boy and a late addition to a mother who had produced only girls. They feared, at first, that he would grow up to be timid beneath so many women. Quite the contrary, Elliott had joined forces with the gardener’s sons and the village boys. They became the terror of the county, and if it were not for the stern hand of Diana’s father, he might very well have run roughshod over everyone.
“My father knew just how to encourage a little boyhood wildness without letting it get out of hand. And he instilled in Elliott what it means to be a responsible head of the family.” At this, Diana’s eyes grew misty. “His death was a great blow.”
To everyone, it seemed, because Elliott had spoken briefly about his own grief when his father passed. “My father never recovered from my mother’s death. I miss her terribly.”
A bond was established between her and Diana, one forged in fabrics, fashion, and similar loss. It seemed Diana relished having someone to talk with as much as Amber treasured a friendship with a lonely woman with a fiercely loyal heart. That was something Amber understood. Which made the afternoon fly by until Lord Byrn had the audacity to return.
It was late, and the Lyon’s Den had opened an hour before. Amber was needed in the cage with her grandfather, and this daydream-come-to-life was ended. She had to go back to work. They were downstairs in the front parlor laughing over the antics of Lady Dunnamore’s tiny dog, but the moment she heard Lord Byrn’s voice in the hallway, Amber began her apologies.
“I am so grateful, my lady,” she said, regretting the need to use the honorific instead of “Diana.”
“Stop, stop! You cannot mean to leave. We were having such a lovely time.”
Amber didn’t answer. The ache in her heart was enough to clog her throat. Stupid, stupid to grow attached to a daydream. She had plenty of friends at the Lyon’s Den. The women who worked the upstairs rooms and the dealers all treated her as a treasured sister. She didn’t need another friend, she told herself. And yet, her time with Diana had made her wish for something more. Something that had colors like the fabric on Diana’s settee. Something that did not smell of tobacco or spirits. As if she, too, were the willowy lady of an old title who might one day dance with a prince.
Except it was a dream, and so when Lord Byrn entered the parlor, she stood and made her goodbyes. He had no time beyond a quick buss on his sister’s cheek before they both were outside and headed back to the gray cage in which Amber spent the bulk of her time.
Quick day, quick end.
For the first time in her life, she hated her life with a passion born of despair. Because she knew with absolute certainty that she would grow old and die in the gray cage at the Lyon’s Den.
Chapter Six
Elliott lifted Amber into the phaeton and took too long to do it. Already, he had been hither and yon in London, and he had a full evening ahead. Was it so wrong for him to linger over the smell of a woman? To feel, however briefly, the fullness of her hips, the swell of her breasts, and the strength in her legs? She gripped his shoulders, and he saw her lips part as her body brushed against his. She was light enough that he did not need to hold her so close. But he did so because her body was luscious, and he had been too long without a woman.
Plus, she had the most spectacular eyes. They were hazel, turning blue or green according to her mood. Right now, they were shifting to blue as she locked gazes with him. And her lips were wet and open, parted in surprise or interest or sheer temptation. He didn’t know, but his imagination certainly supplied details that were best left unspoken.
And yet, he did think and linger until it became unseemly. So, he stepped back. It’s what a gentleman should do. But in his thoughts, they were doing something else entirely.
He jumped into the phaeton, using the time to rein in his runaway feelings. And once the horses were moving at a smart clip, he kept his eyes on them, but his words were for her.
“How much time will you need to gather your things for tonight?”
She jolted beside him. “What?”
“Your things for tonight. Tomorrow as well, I think. Balls end very late, and you will want to rest afterward.”
“But…” She took a quick breath. “Who will work in the cage tonight?”
Now it was his turn to jerk in surprise. “In a cage?” The very idea was appalling.
“Yes. All the valuables are kept behind bars. My grandfather and I are there as well as…” She almost said Lina, but quickly switched to the Den name. “The Abacas Woman.” Lina had a character name from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but no one ever remembered it. She was simply the woman who click-clacked her abacas as she counted out money. Her exotic voice added to the mystery since she never showed her face.