While Lady Cecily would never have been alone in the company of a man, such conditions would be impossible for a woman of Nellie’s class. How would a maid perform her duties if she always had to be watched to ensure she was never in the company of a man? How would the shop girls get to work if they all required a chaperon to accompany them when they walked the streets?
Nellie had had to look after herself, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Unlike Lady Cecily, she was free to flirt, laugh and have fun with anyone she wanted to. Her gaze moved slowly over Mr Lockhart’s sleeping face, down to his broad shoulders exposed above the sheets. She drew in a shaky breath and placed her hand on her chest to still her suddenly thumping heart. She could even take a man to her bed if she wanted to.
She quickly looked away. Not that she would be taking a man to her bed any time soon. She would not risk getting pregnant and suffering the dreadful fate of an unwed mother, and she certainly had no plans to marry. If she did, her business would automatically become her husband’s property and she had worked too hard to build up her business to surrender it just to get a ring on her finger.
She looked back at the man sleeping in her bed. She would never risk what she had for any man, but some men were certainly more tempting than others. He rolled over, exposing more of his shoulders to her gaze. It was strange to think she had seen more of Mr Lockhart’s body than his fiancée probably had. She closed her eyes and remembered his muscular, naked chest, the feeling of his arm heavy around her shoulder, that heady scent of him, all sandalwood and musk. Mmm, lovely.
As pleasant as that memory was, she should not really be thinking about such things. Particularly as he was a respectable man, an engaged man, one who she had caused to get beaten up, all because he was trying to protect her from the unwanted attentions of Patrick Kelly. She needed to remember that, nothing else, and stop thinking about his chest, his arms, or any other part of his body.
She picked up her copy of Arthur Conan Doyle’s latest book from her bedside table and flicked it open. Reading Sherlock Holmes until sleep came was a much more sensible idea than dwelling on Mr Lockhart’s muscles, his scent or any other part of him.
Several pages later, it became obvious that sleep was not going to come easily to her tonight. Her body was too tense, her mind too active. Even the excitement of Holmes and Dr Watson pursuing villains around London wasn’t enough to distract her mind from her aching body, or the whirling thoughts of everything that had happened since she first saw Mr Lockhart dancing around the ballroom at Hardgrave Estate. She wriggled down in the chair to try to get comfortable and moved the cushion to behind her tired shoulders.
It made no difference. How was she ever going to put in a full day’s work tomorrow if she didn’t get a good night’s sleep? She looked over at the sleeping man. She didn’t begrudge him her bed. How could she, considering it was her fault that he was having to sleep the night in her rooms rather than his own comfortable bed, but it would be nice to stretch out and get some sleep.
She looked at the empty space beside Mr Lockhart. It wouldn’t disturb him if she quietly climbed into the bed and slept on the other side, would it? He was sleeping so deeply he would never know. And after many years in service she was still in the habit of waking very early. She would be awake well before him, up and dressed before he even stirred. He’d be none the wiser that he had slept the night alongside her.
No harm would be done and she’d get a good night’s sleep. She continued to stare at the empty side of the bed. It was a sensible idea after all.
The thought of a comfortable night’s sleep was already having a beneficial effect and the tension had started to leave her shoulders. And if she was really going to be comfortable, she needed to get out of her dress and her corset.
As quietly as possible, she returned her book to the bedside table and began undressing. Keeping a watchful eye on Mr Lockhart, she undid her ankle boots and placed them in the cupboard. She unrolled her stockings and removed her skirt, jacket and petticoat. Trying not to make any noise she unlaced her corset and pulled off the restricting garment. Then, moving as quickly as she could, in case he opened his eyes, she removed her chemise, pulled on her nightdress and wriggled out of her drawers.
On tippy toes she crept across the room, slowly pulled back the quilt and carefully climbed into the bed and under the covers.
Mr Lockhart emitted a gentle snore. Good, he was still sound asleep. He was getting some much-needed rest and was oblivious to the fact that a woman had just stripped off before him and that he was now sharing the bed with her.
Nellie smiled to herself and snuggled down under the covers. With his warm body beside her it was easy to imagine what it would be like if she really was sharing her bed, her life, with a man like Mr Lockhart. He was so strong, so brave, so gallant, a woman would feel safe and protected with a man like him in her life. It would almost be worth the legal sacrifices a woman had to make when she
