Laura slept late the next morning and woke to the sound of raised voices. She sat up, heart pounding, and listened. It was Neil, from Richard's room below.

"...don't treat me like a halfwit!

There came the low, indecipherable rumble of Richard's voice.

"It's obscene and you know it! Get rid of her!"

Again, the low rumble, louder this time but still indecipherable. Laura slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door. Opening it a crack, she could make out Richard's words.

"...certainly not by your command." His tone was controlled but irritation vibrated beneath it. "Not by any command but her own."

"Oh? Is that how it is then? She gives the orders and you follow them? I've never known you to follow an order before!"

"Not yours! Not in my house!"

Laura flinched at the virulence in his voice. She snatched up her wrapper from the floor and fought to get her arms through the sleeves. She was still doing up the sash as she ran down the stairs. In Richard's room, both men were shouting now:

"...You're making a goddamn fool of yourself—"

"—I'm doing exactly as I think I ought—"

"—Oh come on! She's leading you by the—"

"—Please don't!" begged Laura, stopping in the doorway.

Neil shut his mouth with a snap. He twisted on one heel and glared at her, his lips drawn, his jaw clenched. Behind him, Richard was standing and grasping a chair for support, his cheeks burning red.

"Please don't fight. Please."

Neil raised his hands helplessly in the air and shook his head. "You—" His mouth opened and shut several times, then he strode forward and pushed past her into the hall. His footsteps clattered rapidly down the stairs. A moment later, the front door slammed shut.

Laura was left staring at Richard. His chest was heaving in and out and his knuckles showed white under his skin. She watched anxiously as his breath slowed and his grip on the back of the chair relaxed.

"He's right, you know." Laura fought to speak through the aching lump in her throat. "I should go somewhere else."

Richard met her eyes. "You don't want to go."

She bit her lip and said nothing.

Richard kept her gaze for a moment and then straightened up and limped heavily to the dresser. He began to roughly brush his hair, which was swept up in a lop-sided crest over his forehead. Other than that, he was already fully dressed in a waistcoat and cravat and shoes. Laura hovered in the doorway. She should leave. Not because it was obscene. Because Richard and Neil were fighting over her and would not stop as long as she was there. The bitter feelings Neil had been biting back the last few weeks were going to come out now — now that Richard was well enough to endure them, now that she had provoked them beyond repression.

"You're right," Richard said, making her jump. "I need a haircut."

Her alarm faded slightly. "Oh. Yes. You do."

He ruthlessly combed down the crest until it was half-way flattened. Then he laid the comb on the dresser and limped towards her.

"It's not your fault. Neil was bound to lose his temper sooner or later."

It was neither a command to go nor a request to stay. She shrugged.

"And I was bound to sleep with you. Sooner or later." Richard gave a small, half-bitter laugh. "I thought I could control myself."

"I provoked both of you."

"Provoked?" Richard ran his eyes up and down her figure. "You provoke me just standing there. Your hair come out all round your shoulders. Bare feet. Sunlight streaming through that thin gown. You are constant provocation, just breathing. Don't you know?"

Self-consciously, Laura tried to tidy her ramshackle braid.

"And now you're only provoking me more." He gave her a wry smile. "It's hopeless. Just how long will I manage to keep my hands off you, with you in sight and reach every day? After last night, I don't even give myself a week."

"Then I think you should stop trying."

His smile became a perplexed frown. "But you don't want to marry me."

"Richard, somewhere out there, there is a nice young woman who is perfectly suited to be your wife, who will love you as you deserve to be loved. I'm not that woman. You must know that."

"Oh, I know." Richard kept his eyes steadily upon hers. "But what happens to that nice young woman when I happen to meet you in a library at a dinner party neither of us wishes to be at?"

Laura could make no reply.

Richard turned away and began to pace the room from chair to window and back again, resting a moment at each to catch his breath. He didn't seem to want help, and right now Laura didn't dare offer it. But his face grew paler and paler, and she was relieved when he stopped at last by the chair and gripped its back for support.

"Answer me honestly. You don't want to leave?"

"No."

"And you don't want to marry me?"

"No."

"Then what do you want?" He threw his hands helplessly in the air. "To be my mistress? Because that seems to be the inevitable conclusion of such an arrangement. I want you. I want you so much I know the only thing that will ever stop me from having you is if you don't want me. And if you do want me, why on earth would you not want to be my wife? God knows there are enough women who've wanted that without wanting me at all."

He let out a heavy sigh and Laura ached to hear it.

"I want you," she said. "Believe me, I want you."

"Then... then marry me and we'll both get what we want."

For the first time, Laura did not dismiss the prospect out of hand. Richard was kind and decent. He was a good man. He would be a good husband. But even as he came towards her and tilted her face towards his to kiss, she remembered: once upon a time, she had thought Mr Maidstone would be a good husband too.

"I'd rather be your mistress," she said as his lips touched hers.

Richard froze. Slowly he drew back and released her. For a moment he seemed about to speak, to protest, then he pressed his lips tightly together and studied her. There was a painful, reluctant frown on his face. Laura was sure he was about to tell her that not only would she not be his mistress, she must leave his house. But at last he said quietly,

"Very well then."

He limped to his dresser and unlocked the top drawer. She heard the crackle of paper, and then he limped back over, holding out a sheaf of bank notes towards her. She stared at them.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Mistresses get paid, don't they?" He gave her a one-sided smile. "It's only wives that do it for free."

* * *

Laura did what Richard thought she would not, and took the money. Then she went out to spend it, but not before courteously helping Richard down to the study on the ground floor. He wanted to write a letter.

Now he stared at the piece of paper, entirely blank except for the salutation:

Dear Verity,

There was no way to ask her advice without confessing what he had just done. And he needed her advice. He knew that Neil would have none to offer. Nothing but censure, and that entirely deserved.

Laura was not, in fact, the first woman to have claimed the title of Mistress in Richard's life. She might have been surprised to learn that she had three predecessors, but Richard was determined that she would never find out. Even now, he felt ashamed of it. He had purchased kisses and smiles and laughter and warm bodies on cold nights. Purchased them, because no woman would choose to freely give them to him. Because he wasn't worth the giving of them.

It had been nearly ten years since he had sent his last mistress on her way. Nearly ten years since he had told himself never, never again. And now...

He stared at the empty paper and slowly wrote half a sentence:

I've made another mistake...

But perhaps it was less of a mistake than taking Laura as a wife. He didn't love her; he only wanted her. Wanted her as once upon a time he had thought he had wanted his mistresses. And if he married her, there would be no sending her on her way when he began to taste the coin in her kisses. He really ought to be grateful she had so flatly refused him. She'd likely saved him a lot of trouble.

He crumpled the paper into a ball and took up a new sheet.

Dear Verity,

I'm afraid I've taken Laura as my mistress...

Except what had really frightened him was the suspicion that if he didn't, she would leave. And what then? He could see that there was something cutting her up inside. Something that made her cold and angry and occasionally cruel. He might not love her, but he felt responsible for her, perhaps even cared about her. He didn't want to send her away to suffer in silence.

He scowled at the paper and methodically began to tear it into tiny fragments. It was useless. This was not the sort of information you could convey in a letter. He needed to speak with Verity in person.

The front door opened and shut, and Neil's footsteps echoed slowly across the marble of the entry hall. Richard dropped the last fragment of paper and breathed in through his teeth. Better to get it over with, he thought miserably, getting to his feet and limping to the doorway.

In the hall, Neil was just about to start up the stairs, but he stopped still, his hand on the newel post, when he saw Richard.

"Oh. You're down here."

"Thought I'd write a letter. You weren't long."

"I only went for a walk. To cool my head." Neil hesitated, then crossed the hall and spoke in a low, uncomfortable tone, "I'm sorry about this morning."

"So am I." Richard tried to smile. "Come in here, will you? I want to talk."

He held the door open for Neil and then shut it softly behind them. Neil leaned against the edge of the desk, and Richard, his legs and back aching, sank down into an armchair.

"Laura and I have come to an arrangement," he said flatly.

For a moment, relief broke over Neil's face, then he frowned. "What kind of arrangement? Where are you sending her?"

"She's staying here, Neil. I'm sorry. She's agreed to be my... mistress."

Neil stared at him. "No."

"I'm sorry."

Neil ran his hand savagely through his hair until it all stood up on end. "Why?" he demanded at last. "Just... why?"

There was no way to explain without giving Neil more reasons to distrust and dislike Laura. Richard shrugged.

"I want her and she is willing."

"What a perfect justification. No, I'm sorry. I won't argue with you again." Neil shook his head. "You've made your decision. But it's going to make a bad scandal worse.

"Other people are always having scandals of this sort. Yet they survive."

"And lose half their friends in the process!"

"Will I lose you?"

Neil paused. Slowly, he breathed out. "You know you won't."

"Then I lose no one important."

"But while she is in your house, Verity, Annie, Podge, they won't be. You must understand that."

Richard felt a twinge of doubt. He knew that Neil was right — it was impossible to invite his sister-in-law and her children, who he loved, to the same house as his mistress, who he did not. An unfair price for him to have to pay for Laura.

"I do understand." He sighed. "Eventually I'll come to a different arrangement — clean up that little place in Chapel Street, perhaps, and set her up there."

"Like father used to, with his courtesans?" Neil sneered. "That house ought to be burned to the ground."

Richard wasn't entirely sure he disagreed. His mother had died when he was twelve, but he still remembered the resigned, broken expression she used to wear when his father was around. And the tormented, wondering expression when he was not. But he had done worse to her than merely be unfaithful, and in any case, Richard had no wife to betray by being with Laura.

Neil pushed himself off the desk. "Thank you for informing me, at any rate. If you don't mind, I'll be heading out again. I probably won't be back for dinner."

"Not in the mood for conversation?"

"Not in the mood to face your mistress!"

"I'm sorry, Neil."

"And so am I."

At the door of the study, Neil paused.

"You know, I think I ought to return home now."

"Now?" Richard felt a quiver of alarm. He had no wish to return to the old days of estrangement between him and Neil. "But why?"

"Because you're much better now. And because it's been nearly a month, and I miss my wife and children. I think now is the right time for me to return home."

But Richard knew perfectly well that was not the reason.

__

A/N: Oh, bit late eh? Er... Well. Richard sure isn't thinking with his head in this chapter. Or exactly with his heart either.