Henry sighed. “Me too.”
His arm remained firm around my waist as we navigated past the various crates and debris strewn throughout the alley. The path was precarious at best, lit to some degree by the moon and innumerable stars. At the sound of scurrying feet, I pressed closer to Henry and tried to avoid stepping on anything alive.
To my relief, the alley was shallow and soon ran into Drury Lane. Carriages clogged the road, their footmen yelling at each other to give way. We stayed to the shadows and slipped by unnoticed onto the next street. From there, we entered what appeared to be a park with a wide, graveled footpath. Dead leaves littered the ground, illuminated by lamps sitting atop tall, iron posts.
“The mayor keeps the lamps burning ’til eleven to deter criminals while good folks are still afoot,” Henry explained. “After that it is each man for himself.”
“Are you worried?” I asked him.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “No one would dare attack us.”
We fell silent when another couple came into sight, their arms linked as they strolled by in the opposite direction. Once they passed, our silence continued to stretch on, becoming somewhat strained. I wanted to restart the conversation, but there was only one thing on my mind at present. Try as I might, I could not stop thinking about Miss Justine Rose.
“Did you enjoy the opera tonight?” I blurted out.
“No, I did not,” he said. “The Beggar’s Opera has been playing on and off for the past two years and has grown tiresome to me.”
His words offered a promising, yet somewhat ambiguous start. Determined to have the truth, I turned to shameless prodding for my next recourse. “It was cleverly written,” I pushed on. “And the audience had no lack of appreciation for Miss Rose. Were you pleased with her acting?”
Another long moment passed as he considered my question. Trees loomed just off the path, their remaining leaves rattling in the soft breeze. I stared at their dark outlines, forcing myself to be patient.
“Selah,” he said at last, “I’ve a confession to make about my previous association with Miss Rose.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“I mean that our relationship extended beyond the bounds of normal friendship.”
James had inadvertently prepared me for the worst while playing the bully on board the Callisto. “Was she your lover?” I asked, my voice surprisingly level.
“Very nearly, yes, but please listen to me, Selah, before you pass any judgments. Miss Rose came to my attention just over a year ago when she began performing on Drury Lane. I was smitten by her beauty and began to visit the theater whenever I came down from Oxford. After awhile, she allowed certain familiarities to secure my devotion, yet refused to consummate our intimacy until I was willing to show a greater commitment.” He fell silent, appearing to struggle with how best to continue.
Gravel and dead leaves crunched underfoot as we walked, our steps growing louder each time the conversation lagged.
“What happened?” I asked, prodding his story along.
“My father betrothed me to Amelia against my wishes,” he said. “I was very angry and decided then and there to make Miss Rose my mistress. At the time my reasoning seemed sound—if my father was going to force me into a loveless marriage, I would find love elsewhere.”
“Did you really love her?”
We were about at the end of the pathway. Townhomes came into view, illuminated by lamps that had been hung outside each door and I realized we were not far from Cate’s. Henry must have realized the same thing, for he stopped walking and turned to face me.
“Upon my soul, you are the only woman I have ever loved. What I felt for Justine was nothing more than lust. I just didn’t know it at the time. I desired her like I had never desired another woman before, and I confused that emotion for something deeper. James made all the arrangements, furnishing a townhome for her to live and where we could rendezvous whenever I visited London.”
I put up a hand to stop him. “Please, Henry, I don’t want to hear any more about how you bedded that woman. It happened in the past and I shall not hold it against you.” Though I was glad for his honesty, my heart felt heavy from the story.
Henry took my hand and pressed it to his chest. “That’s the thing,” he said. “It never happened. The first night we planned to meet, I was traveling alone from Oxford to London. It was then that I came under attack by my cousin’s henchmen and sold to Captain Harlow.”
“You...you didn’t lay with her?” I stammered, unable to hide my surprise.
“No, Selah, I did not. I wish I could claim a moral epiphany, but the outcome was the same in the end. Miss Rose and I were never lovers.”
“But James told me she was your mistress. He made it sound like the affair was long standing.”