After a few minutes of sheets rustling and mumbles about the tether, he quieted. His breathing evened out as he succumbed to sleep.
She lay with jaw clenched, blinking in the dark. A fortnight more, at least, to earn her freedom. One last entitled man-boy to pander to. She hoped her future husband was worth this. Ever since the Black Widow had asked her to describe what she was looking for, she’d conjured images of her desired spousal attributes. Tonight, though, only a hard chest and stomach, a few ribs showing around the auburn trail of hair, and an ample breeches-covered protuberance came to mind. Stifling a sigh, she turned to face away from him, as though that would help remove him from her thoughts.
Chapter Eight
By eight o’clock,Luke was awake, albeit miserable. Once again, he was a sweaty mess. This morning brought the addition of occasional head-to-toe shivers, and he could still feel every heartbeat stabbing a knife into his head. His thoughts were consumed with whisky. Well, and Isabella in that red silk ensemble.
Despite his mental appreciation for her appeal, his body was not interested. When was the last time he’d enjoyed a rousing round of sex? Or even a mediocre one? Blast, he was a young man, he should be engaging a wench a night or more. That thought should be motivation enough for him to straighten out his life, but the lure of whisky was more powerful.
And cor, he needed forty winks. Never mind that he’d just risen or that he’d slept more in the last day and a half than he normally did in half a week. Fatigue dragged at him. Worse, he faced another day with no purpose and no idea what to do about it.
Sitting up, he peered over the edge of the bed. Isabella was not there. Of course she wasn’t.Shehad a purpose. Scowling, he checked his wrist. His tether had been removed, so he made his way back to the room he’d used the first night.
A bath waited for him, buckets of water keeping warm on the hearth. Ringing for a servant, he stripped and sank into it, shivering despite the fire’s heat. He bathed and dressed with help, feeling ever more idiotic for needing the assistance due to shaking hands.
Whoever had fetched his clothes from his house had not brought shoes. Although, at the moment, it wouldn’t have mattered. Luke was incapable of venturing outside, much less finding his way home.
He padded downstairs in stocking feet in search of tea.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” Isabella’s voice drummed in his head. He swore she was being deliberately loud. “Come have tea. How do you feel?”
“Like a four-horse carriage ran me over. Twice.”
“Well, you at least look a teeny bit better than yesterday. Come in here.” She turned into the dining room.
Luke tensed, craving tea almost as much as whisky, but fearing the smells, given his stomach’s continued missishness. He took one step into the doorway, followed by one more inside the room. There was no cooked breakfast laid out, only toast and a loaf cake on the table with the tea set. Sighing in relief, he crossed to sit.
“Here. Try a small piece. You needn’t eat it if you don’t like it, but I do think it will settle your stomach. Charlotte introduced me to a bakery that makes the best ginger cake I’ve ever had.”
He poured tea first and took a fortifying gulp. Reaching for his fork, he broke off a piece of cake and brought it to his mouth. His stomach did not protest. Ginger and flour and sugar and... cinnamon? So many flavors burst on his tongue, but all somehow still soothed. He moaned.
She closed her eyes on a long blink at his overt enjoyment.
He gave her a wan smile and ate another small bite. So far, so good. Wanting to take his mind off his ailments, he asked, “Iseem to recall you were discussing a prospective husband with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. So... ehm... are you still in the same line of work?”
She’d informed him of her vocation in that fateful carriage ride from Charlotte’s house.
“You mean catering to wealthy lords’ wishes?”
“Ah, yes.” She had a diplomatic way of wording it, but she probably needed to.
“I was hoping to retire, but it seems I have one more to indulge,” she replied with a raised brow.
His shoulders drooped. He hadn’t thought of it that way.
“I was teasing you,” she said. “I am retired, though. Unlike some in my trade, I do not wish to marry for power or connections. I want companionship and a family.”
Although surprised she was sharing these details with him, he dared not voice that sentiment. Indeed, the entire conversation and all of his questions were beyond the pale for a polite conversation. However, as it kept his mind off his physical misery, he pursued the subject. “What if you do not find someone to suit?”
“Then I suppose I’ll continue on. I have no need of the funds, but I enjoy having a partner, both at home and at social events.”
Luke knew that most benefactors rented houses for their mistresses. But as she seemed to be wealthy enough to retire even without marriage, he wondered. “Whose house is this, then? Yours?”
She nodded with a proud smile.
“’Tis lovely.” He looked around, unable to imagine how he’d earn enough to afford a house such as this. He had no real skills.
Morose again, he hung his head.
