“Yes.” She nodded to the woman as their bowls of stew and warm crusty bread arrived. “Mrs. Punch has a very good eye, as does her assistant. I believe she said the first gown will arrive in a matter of days.”
Valentine scooped up stew onto his bread and took a large bite. “Of course, you’ll have gowns made in London as well. But Mrs. Punch knows the latest styles. She will do a good enough job for the present.”
Catherine watched as the pub door opened again, and Clare entered. She had changed out of her work clothes, and now wore a brightly colored dress with a low bodice that emphasized her assets. Most of the men gave her appreciative looks when she entered, and Catherine looked at Valentine to see if he had noticed; but he was tearing at another chunk of the bread.
Clare moved easily among the other locals, speaking to some and passing among them, but she seemed to be looking for someone. And Catherine knew when she had found him by the way the girl’s mouth erupted in a smile. It was a boy of seventeen or eighteen with long brown hair hanging in his face. He’d been in and out of the pub, alternately serving, cleaning the tables, and delivering tankards of ale.
And when the boy spotted her, his face went from pale and haggard to handsome and robust. Catherine smiled. The two were obviously in love.
“And what has you smiling?” Valentine said. He followed her gaze to Clare and her young man and then looked back at Catherine. “Young lovers. I should have known.”
“They seem very happy,” Catherine said, tasting her stew and then, taking a cue from Valentine, breaking off a piece of the bread and swabbing it through the thick chunks of meat and vegetables.
“Yes, they do. I’d like to see you that happy.”
Catherine looked up. “Wooing me again, my lord?”
“I try my best. And what of you? Did you do as I suggested today? When you were bedecked in silks and laces, did you try and see yourself as I do?”
Catherine blushed, embarrassed to have her thoughts returned to her wanton behavior in Mrs. Punch’s shop. “I tried,” she said finally.
Behind them, the curtain swayed slightly, and they heard the muted sound of voices. Catherine turned her head and saw that Clare and her young man had entered the room by a back door and were standing, talking at the far end. She could not hear their words, but the sound of their low, confidential voices was audible.
“And did you succeed?” Valentine was saying. “Did you see anything of the temptress that I see?” His voice was as low as those of the two lovers on the other side of the curtain, and it sent a shiver up her spine. Then, as she watched, the boy took Clare in his arms and bent his head to kiss her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said when she saw Valentine watching her, waiting for a response.
He began to speak again, but as he did, Catherine caught sight of the couple through the crack in the curtain again. She really did mean to attend to Valentine, but she could see the lovers almost without any effort, and now the man had reached down and cupped Clare’s bottom, sliding his hands over her rounded rump as the girl pressed her body against him.
Catherine’s own body tingled in response, and she jumped when Valentine put a hand on her arm. “Are you well? You look a bit flushed.”
“I-I’m fine,” she said, and took a large gulp of her wine. Valentine frowned at her, but she gave him a weak smile, and he went back to his stew.
Catherine tried to do the same, but she found her eyes drawn again to the lovers. She had only to move a fraction of an inch to see them. Now the boy was no longer kissing Clare’s lips, but he’d moved to her neck, and his hands were loosening the low-bodiced gown she wore. As Catherine watched, he freed Clare’s breasts and took each rosy nipple in his mouth. Clare threw her head back, giving him full access, and Catherine caught her breath at the quick rush of sensation she felt between her own thighs.
“She seems to be enjoying that.” Valentine’s voice was low, a murmur in her ear.
Catherine stiffened, and her eyes met his. He’d angled his chair so that he could see through the crack in the curtain as well, and he’d moved closer to her. Catherine had been so absorbed, she had not noticed.
“I-I was not watching,” she said. Her cheeks flamed and she stared hard at the remnants of her stew.
Valentine chuckled. “You weren’t watching? Is that why you didn’t hear a word I said these past five minutes?”
“Perhaps we should ask for another table,” Catherine said, still staring at her stew and acutely aware of Valentine beside her, his gaze on the entwined couple on the other side of the curtain. Catherine heard a low, female moan, and had to exercise great restraint to keep from lifting her head and looking.
“We probably should ask for another table,” Valentine said, “but I rather like this one. Oh, now that looks like fun.”
She snapped her head up and stared at him. “Sir, you should not be looking. It is obscene.”
His eyes met hers. “Obscene? How?”
She shook her head, unable to explain, and not wanting to. But he kept his gaze on her face and waited. Finally, she was able to stammer, “Wh-what they are doing. It is not right.”
“Not right? If it is not right, then you and I and all of these people in this room are wrong. How do you think you came to be, Catie?”
She shook her head and looked away from him, inadvertently catching sight of the couple again. Now Clare’s breasts were completely exposed, and the boy had her seated on the bed. He was kneeling before her, ruching up her skirt, while she kneaded his hard member through his pants.
Catherine looked away. “I understand how children come about, sir. But that is not their intention. They are doing this solely for—”
