“Oh, Eddie,” Lady Ricker sighed as she rested back on the satin pillows, her curls coiling around her face. “I must get dressed for the party.”
He twirled her dark hair in his fingers, examining the lace on her negligee as he leaned on one arm. “But you look smashing just the way you are.”
She laughed as she always did when he complimented her. “Admiral and Mrs. Drague will be expecting lipstick and jewels for New Year’s.”
“Admiral Drague is always expecting something.”
She traced her finger along the edge of his chin. “Thanks to you, our little operation on the hill was successful again.”
“What did they take out?”
“The barracks and at least two hangars.”
Lady Ricker had assured him that he would be rewarded handsomely for his loyalty and work. Still, he’d made five extra photographs and hidden them under the floor for collateral, so he could prove his allegiance after the war. Just in case her ladyship tried to cross him.
After kissing him, Lady Ricker inched to the opposite side of the bed, taking a cigarette from her gilded case. “How is Olivia making out?”
“I don’t want to talk about her.”
She lit the cigarette. “It’s a dreadful shack,” she said, clearly ignoring his desire not to discuss his wife. “I fear for her health.”
“She’s not happy, but she’s well enough.”
She took a long drag of the cigarette and the smoke settled over the bed. “You must work to keep her happy, Eddie.”
“I send her food and supplies, but nothing pleases her.”
“I will have Cook make some nice cakes to take with you when you visit this weekend.”
“I wasn’t planning a visit—”
“Is Olivia still caring for the girl?”
“Of course.” Except the girl wasn’t so much of a girl anymore. Over the past months, she’d developed into a woman. A pretty one, even with her tattered clothing.
Perhaps next time he’d bring a frock for her instead of Olivia. Perhaps she would show him a little appreciation for his efforts.
Lady Ricker crushed her cigarette in a tray. “We must keep the girl happy too.”
“I will ensure her happiness.”
“Very noble of you.”
“I have another job—”
The telephone interrupted her, and when she answered it, Eddie heard a man speaking rapidly on the other end, saw her face pale.
“How long ago?” she demanded before hanging up the phone.
“Who was that?” he asked.
She reached for her robe. “You must leave here.”
“But the job—”
She waved her hand. “We’ll discuss it later.”
He wasn’t worried. Her bedroom door was locked, and the corridor would be clear. Lady Ricker demanded all of her staff stay away while she enjoyed her afternoon naps.
When the doorknob rattled, Lady Ricker swore. Eddie swiped his trousers from off a chair, trying to devise some sort of story if Lord Ricker had returned early from London or the nanny needed something yet again for the baby boy.
But a young woman glided into the bedroom, dangling a key in one hand. She eyed his bare chest, laughing. “Well, hello there.”
Eddie rapidly buttoned his shirt.
“Apparently the New Year’s party has already begun.” A mink fur was wrapped over her bare shoulders, across the low sleeves of her shimmering blue dress, but her most prominent feature was her protruding stomach. Clearly the woman was expecting a child and had no qualms in letting the world know.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
A smile slid smoothly across her lips, glistening from a fresh coat of gloss. “I’m a secret.” The woman walked toward the bed. “Hello, Mummy.”
Her ladyship straightened her shoulders like a soldier preparing for a battle. “Hush, Rosalind.”
When the woman saw Lady Ricker’s attire, she looked back at Eddie. Then she laughed again. A gut-wrenching, awful laugh that echoed down the corridor.
His gaze shuttled between the two women. Was Rosalind really Lady Ricker’s daughter?
Eddie closed the door so none of the servants would hear.
“The maid said you weren’t to be disturbed. I can see why.” Her gaze traveled from the top of Eddie’s head down to his toes. “Where’d she find you?”
Lady Ricker responded. “He was a photographer for London Life.”
Rosalind cocked her head. “And now?”
It was none of her business what he did now.
“Let me guess.” She eyed him again. “You were pressed into the service of agriculture so you won’t be called up.”
“I manage the gardens,” he said, refusing to let this woman humiliate him, even if she was Lady Ricker’s daughter.
Rosalind turned back toward her ladyship. “Stop looking at me like that, Mummy. I thought you’d welcome me home.”
Lady Ricker tied the cord around her robe. “We have friends coming soon. And Lord Ricker.”
Rosalind shrugged. “I’m not the one sleeping with the gardener.”
Lady Ricker studied her stomach. “You’ve been sleeping with someone.”