Chapter Nine

I t was late, Vauxhall was growing chilly, and Purity had been denied the excitement of Foxford's presence all evening. It was vexing. When she'd mentioned attending, he'd expressed an interest in the place since he hadn't been in years.

Stupidly, she had pinned her hopes upon seeing him. Moreover, she'd been vain enough to think he might go merely to spend time with her.

The excursion hadn't been for nothing. She and her friend Harriet thought the music to be fine and the fireworks great fun, despite how fewer people of quality attended ever since the Pleasure Gardens had declared bankruptcy in 1840.

As Foxford had mentioned, some considered it a shabby shadow of its former glory. Regardless, her parents and brother had readily agreed to her suggestion to go, and Clarity had come with her husband, Hollidge, simply for a lark.

Purity had tried — and failed — to keep from looking for Foxford from the moment she'd arrived. Hours later, having eaten the less than palatable food, seen all the various amusements, including the well-known Cascade with its mechanical carriage and waterfall, and a wondrous show by a fire-eater, they were ready to leave.

When they turned from the Grand Walk and headed toward the gate leading to the ferry, she caught her breath. There he was, directly to her right, standing before one of the supper boxes. For a moment, she stopped to gawk.

Foxford was laughing with his friend, Lord Quinn, and with three females! He had probably been at Vauxhall all evening, and she simply hadn't encountered him. Since he was with women of obviously low repute, given their state of disgraceful undress, and since Purity had not been anywhere near the infamous Dark Walk, the reason for not running into him was clear.

He had lied to her about his interest in the vulgar, scantily clad women of the night.

Embarrassed for him to be with such low company, she hoped he didn't notice her, nor did she want her parents to see him either. Yet as she hurried to catch up to her family, who had continued walking, Foxford spied her.

His laughter halted, and from the corner of her eye, she watched him say something to his companions before rushing to intercept her.

"Lady Purity, well met," he said jovially.

"Hardly," she quipped, having to stop for politeness' sake, seeing her family halt up ahead and wait for her.

"Hardly?" he repeated. "Have you not enjoyed yourself? I know the food is mediocre, but you were correct that the entertainment is still worth the shilling admittance."

She could not tell him it was he who had displeased her and not Vauxhall.

"I am leaving, my lord. I bid you good evening."

He frowned. "Are you angry with me? I know we had mentioned meeting, but I was held up on personal business. When I arrived, I sought you out."

"I assure you I was not with that group of ladies ," she said the word with exaggeration. "Besides, it matters to me not a whit whether we encounter one another. I mustn't keep my family waiting."

Before she left, Purity couldn't help a last remark.

"At least I know why you don't have time to write down names in the evening. You most likely never retire alone. Besides, why take note of a new acquaintance when she is still with you when you awaken in the morning."

Turning on her heel, she strode away, aghast at her own audacity. She had all but accused Foxford of spending the night with a slovenly lady of the night — as if there was anything unusual in that!

As if her disappointment mattered to him anyway.

Purity wished she hadn't seen him at all. Naively, she'd begun to create a fantasy in her mind that the so-called Fox was becoming a tame, upstanding citizen.

Thus, she was surprised upon receiving a letter from him the next morning. Two pages of writing disclosed everything he had done the day before and names with descriptions of every person whom he'd met.

Everyone except the ladies of the evening! There was no mention of rouge-cheeked women with red-painted lips and low-cut necklines. But at the end of it, he'd signed off by saying he was sipping brandy at midnight and going directly to bed.

Purity couldn't help but smile. At least he'd turned in early. What's more, even his penmanship was unexpectedly tidy.

Just when she'd condemned him as an unabashed rake, the man tried to convince her he was more of a monk.

However, over her breakfast an hour later, The Times had a different tale, and since she'd seen him with her own eyes, she couldn't discount it.

Lords F__ and Q__ were seen making a depraved display with the lowest company at Vauxhall. The type of pleasure they sought was easy to guess. The latter of the pair would do well to stay clear of the former unless he wishes to mire in the Fox's den of inequity. The former used his wily charm to particularly ill use in the Pleasure Gardens and was last seen escorting two of the ‘ladies' into his carriage, while Lord Q settled for one.

Purity felt ill. Even more so when Foxford presented his calling card later that day and entered for a visit. He was impeccably dressed and smelled like Pears soap. The fresh scent, mildly spicy with a hint of thyme, was almost as alluring as his cologne. But it reminded her of why he might need a morning bath — attempting to wash away the dreadful debauchery of the night before.

"I didn't expect to see you today," she said.

"Will there be tea?" Foxford asked, his eyes dancing with amusement. "That's the polite thing to do, I've learned. Offer your guest a cup of tea."

"Not to the uninvited guest, if you recall." She left it at that.

After Alice took a seat at the other end of the room, Purity sat upon the edge of a wingback chair, not relaxing for an instant nor giving in to the usual thrilling tingle caused by his presence.

"To what do I owe this visit?" she asked, doing her best to maintain a disinterested tone. After all, it was not her place to chastise a grown man for his actions, no matter how disenchanted she was by them and consequently, by him.

And Purity did feel extremely let down, having hoped he would curtail his wilder side.

"I'm merely continuing in the fashion we have begun," he said simply. "To further my quest."

She could barely look at him. "You won't find a respectable wife among the women with whom you kept company at Vauxhall."

He laughed. "Absolutely not. I wholeheartedly agree."

"Then why waste your time?" she snapped, instantly wishing she hadn't. Her detachment had lasted less than a minute. What's more, she was all too aware if he'd taken two of them in his carriage, it had not been a waste of time at all. Instead, they were rather good value for his coin.

"I didn't waste my time," he said, confirming her fears.

The man was too entrenched in his ways. Another wave of disappointment rolled through her, as he was all but confessing to enjoying himself with those prostitutes.

"I see," she said. He was an unrepentant libertine.

"Good," he continued, as if the matter were closed.

Since it was his private business, Purity supposed it was.

"What did you think of my writing assignment?" he asked.

She had forgotten the two pages entirely. Now she considered them.

"It was detailed, especially for such a busy man." Busy carousing and entertaining not one but two females, she added silently.

His grin was almost boyish, squeezing her heart with a pang of longing. If only he weren't such a thundering buck.

"The account of my day didn't take too long. I cobbled it together, by which I mean I dictated it to my valet over a glass of brandy before heading to my bedroom for a more important matter."

Purity gasped and rose to her feet.

"You have gone too far, my lord."

Foxford jumped up. "I intended no offense," he said, frowning. "In truth, it was a bit of a rude jest, but I meant only that I was ready for a good night's sleep. Am I not allowed to mention a bedroom in a lady's presence, either?"

"You are not to bring up your nighttime antics at all," she said, ready to throw him out.

He ran a hand over his jaw as if contemplating. "I am starting to think there are too many barred words and topics, making it impossible for members of the opposite sex to carry on a conversation without stumbling into some of them."

"It is my nature to hope and wish you could behave like an honorable gentleman," Purity said, clasping her hands together to keep from wringing them like an anxious ninny. "However, since you cannot comport yourself, I shall no longer keep company with you. I want you to leave and not return."

His astounded expression gave her pause.

"My Lord Foxford, can you really think I would wish to spend time with you when you come from your bed having dallied with not one but two loose women? Even if you have attempted to scrub off your debauchery."

"Scrub off my debauchery?" he repeated, appearing entirely confounded. "What in blue blazes are you talking about?"

"You and those women I saw you with last night at Vauxhall," she reminded him. "Did you not leave with two of them?"

His mouth dropped open. "How could you know that? You had already departed the gardens."

"And yet I know," she said, her voice soft, wishing it didn't sound as sad as she felt. "All of London knows."

"I see. If you will give me a chance to tell you what transpired, I will," he said, "although since we have no arrangement between us, I don't owe you any explanation."

She narrowed her eyes at his peevish tone.

"It's true, you owe me nothing," she agreed.

They stood staring at one another like adversaries.

Then he cleared his throat. "Since I thought we were becoming friends, I wish to tell you anyway," he added. "For I do not welcome your thinking the worst of me."

He still sounded annoyed, but she'd caught him in his wicked ways with her own eyes.

"I did indeed leave with two of the women."

"Ah-ha" nearly burst from her lips, but she restrained herself. He was still a guest in her home. But she could remind him of the sordid truth.

"You took them in your carriage with the shades drawn."

Foxford shook his head. "No, I don't believe they were drawn."

Purity realized she'd added that detail, thinking he would have wanted utter privacy in order to do whatever hedonistic things they could get up to in a rocking carriage.

She shrugged. "Go on." Would he confess to taking them to his home?

"The two women live at a... a rooming house on the other side of the Haymarket, and I took them there."

Her stomach churned. Some brothels might be plush, housing the elite of Mayfair's courtesans, but not that far east. It would be a low, murky place with desperate, possibly diseased women.

Thinking of Foxford going indoors with them amongst the tattered bed-hangings, the filthy sheets with bedbugs, perhaps even lice, and the worn canvas curtains, not to mention the worn women, Purity shuddered and took a step back.

"I let them out of my carriage, and they went inside," he continued. "My driver took me home to write my assignment before I had a well-earned glass of brandy. And I dispatched the pages to you first thing."

Wanting to trust him, Purity almost allowed herself, except ... It didn't beg believing. He was Foxy, the Fox, the Bachelor Baron, and all that. Even then, he was ridiculously attractive despite being a base and shameless libertine.

"You must excuse me if I find it difficult to accept a version in which you allow your fine carriage to be used as a hackney for London's light-skirts and then drop them off without enjoying their charms."

"That's because they hadn't any."

"You seemed amused by them when I walked by," she shot back.

After a hesitation, he said, "You are jealous." And then his annoyingly smug grin returned to his handsome face.

"Do not be absurd." She fisted her hands at her sides, wishing he wasn't correct. She was seethingly jealous of those blasted blowsabellas, but she was determined to fight her feelings for him tooth and nail until he was nothing more to her than a worn-out shoe.

"I don't have any personal interest in you beyond a sense of pity for the woman whom you take as your wife, for she shall have to put up with your philandering." Purity detested the tenor of their confrontation, and her queasiness grew. "I have already asked you to leave."

His expression darkened. "I haven't lied to you." Then he caught himself and his gaze slipped sideways before returning to hers. She wondered which lie he was recalling.

"At least, not about this," Foxford hedged.

"Oh!" she tossed up her hands in frustration while expelling a breath of utter exasperation. "You are impossible!"

"I am telling you the truth. Why would I take common Drury Lane vestals when I can afford a flash mollisher any day of the year — or every day for that matter?"

His anger had returned, and he stepped nearer, causing Purity to glance down the far end of the room where Alice dozed like an old dog.

" You are the one who is impossible," he insisted, closing the distance to stand toe-to-toe with her. "I have done everything you've instructed me to do, as if you are my sergeant. I haven't stepped a hairsbreadth out of line, not even when I desperately wanted to do this."

With those menacing words, he grasped her around her waist so swiftly she didn't have time to pull away or to shout. And then he claimed her mouth.

She melted. It was the only word she could think of with a brain turned quickly to mush. Purity would swear he had the touch of a necromancer, putting a mystical spell over her. For whenever he was close, she was not herself. Heat spread within. Flames licked through her body, making her breasts feel heavy and her nipples grow taut. Even more maddening was the throbbing pulse at her core.

Leaning into him, she tilted her head and returned his kiss with vigor. Somehow, her hands were already behind his head, and her fingers were threading into his hair. So soft.

Foxford groaned before demanding entrance to her mouth and sliding his tongue inside when she granted it. At the same time, his hands left her waist to cup her buttocks and grind her against his hips.

The room fell away. Her very existence as Lady Purity Diamond seemed to disintegrate. She was pure sensation instead. Breathing raggedly, her heart pounding, her body hot and drenched with pleasure. She wanted what men and women had been doing throughout time.

And she wanted that with Foxford! She could feel his arousal against her stomach and knew it meant he wanted her just as badly.

How long they kissed, fused by eager mouths with their bodies pressed so close her breasts were flattened against his chest, she had no idea. But all the while, his strong fingers flexed over her backside, making her long to experience his practiced touch all over her sizzling skin.

And then, he drew back. No longer did the baron look smug or angry. She would vow he appeared as stunned as she was.

"Why would I waste my time with any other woman?" he repeated.

She put her hand to her lips. They still felt warm and, if she could credit the sensation, a little swollen.

"In case you still think I am frequenting the lowliest brothels in London, I tell you in all earnestness and swear upon my father's soul that I did nothing more than offer those women a ride home. A small part of me thought you would be proud of my chivalry." He tugged upon the sleeve of his frock coat.

"And when I do take a wife, she shall have no need to worry about other women — whores or not — for I shall be entirely devoted to her. Good day."

Then he took his leave. After the sound of his footsteps died out, she still stood frozen, thinking herself every inch a dunce. She'd taken The Times small kernel, as he'd called it before, and made a twelve-course meal of it, adding in details that were not even written.

If only he hadn't been so vulgar as to use the word whore .

A loud snort came from beside the bookcase as Alice awakened herself and swiftly rose to her feet.

"Oh, my lady, I must have drifted off. Has your young man left already? I hope I didn't miss anything." Then she laughed and added, "Not that any of us ever have to worry about you, Lady Purity."