Free Somebody To Love by Kate Rothwell

contact with the light-skirts from Kane’s other establishments. She dearly wished she could grab the young creature and march her to the front door. She’d order Lola to wipe off that dreadful—and unnecessary—rouge and go home.
    Araminta’s gaze traveled up from Lola’s pretty young face, and, as her eyes met Calverson’s again, her heart thumped hard. He clapped like the others. Yet he appeared so profoundly uninterested, she could swear his mind was elsewhere.
    “Thank you all for your generous appreciation.” Araminta launched into the short speech Kane demanded she give. Her employer did not appear to mind that she usually adopted as dismal a tone as possible. Tonight she aimed for the voice of an undertaker announcing a viewing. “And once you have enjoyed your port and cigars, we ask that you retire to our exquisite”—she paused, and in an even more hopeless tone finished—“gaming rooms in the front parlor.”
    Another round of applause. Griffin’s eyebrows raised slightly, and his eyes glimmered with a tad more interest. As close to a look of hilarious amusement as he’d allow on that face, she supposed.
    She turned and marched out of the dining room. If he wanted to play with the likes of Lola, it was none of her business.
    The garden door stood open, and unseasonably warm weather beckoned her to the only part of Kane’s establishment she enjoyed. She wandered the paths of the small pleasure garden that lay behind the kitchen garden. A full moon shone; the soft music floated through open windows. A night for enchantments, not rankling thoughts of men who had too much money and too little to occupy their hands.
    A couple slipped from the French doors of the rear parlor, beyond the terrace and into the garden. A soft breeze picked at her skirts as she backed away from them and went to the vine-covered pergola, where she sat down in the shadows. In a few weeks, the little shelter would probably be redolent with the heady perfume of the wisteria.
    Someday she’d have a garden as enchanting as the one her mother had cultivated. Charlotte, who’d never so much as touched dirt before her banishment, had had a gorgeous garden behind their small cottage. Araminta smiled at the memory of her mother’s gift of quiet happiness. If only she, Araminta, could have been content to remain in that small village. But that was a child’s memory of paradise. She could not fit life there, and though her mother had never complained, Araminta realized Charlotte had not either. Poor Charlotte must have been lonely.
    “May I take a few minutes of your time?”
    She jumped up from the wooden bench. He appeared to be a looming shadow, though the shape of his crisp white shirt stood out clearly.
    “Good evening, Mr. Calverson,” she said. “Where is your dinner companion?”
    “Not with me.”
    Her heart should not have lifted at that. “Did you follow me out here?”
    “I have been waiting for a moment when I could slip away.”
    Not an answer to her question, of course.
    He sat down across from her. In the darkness behind her, creatures—birds, she hoped—rustled sleepily in the vines.
    “Why are you out here, Araminta? Do you have an assignation?”
    “Pray do not be ridiculous. I come out here to slip my bonds.”
    “Now you are speaking nonsense. Even Kane would not hold you against your will.”
    She smiled. “No, indeed. He is a monster, but still, I enjoy my work. I mean bonds of a different sort. Mostly my own making, I suspect.”
    He made a small rumble of disbelief, or perhaps mockery. He shifted on his seat, leaning toward her slightly. Her hand rested on the bench. She shivered as he absently stroked the side of his thumb over her fingers.
    She knew she’d been hoping he’d seek her out. Even after she had seen Lola in his lap, she could not contain that distressing eagerness. She could only be grateful that the shadows hid her reddened cheeks, as well as her difficulty maintaining a steady