“How old were you?”
“Sixteen. Old enough, in the world I came from.”
“Holy—” he bit off the rest. “Apologies. ’Tis hard to fathom for me. Please, continue.”
She pressed her lips together. Her whole life was impossible for this lordling to imagine. However, he continued to show interest, so perhaps he could learn what hard work accomplished. Besides, it was rather nice to have someone interested; of her previous lovers, only North had been. “I had an idea of what our rent was, and I’d watched both parents work to barely cover that and feed us. The amounts she talked about seemed like a fortune for me. She assured me she’d help me find an apartment and clothes, and I could pay her back after my first benefactor settled an amount on me. I was lucky.”
He choked but gestured for her to go on.
“I was,” she argued, her tone mild despite irritation at his naiveté, and elaborated. “Another woman in her place might have cut a deal with the men and pimped me out. Instead, she explained how to protect myself from becoming with child and from the men themselves. A week later when they returned, Iwas dressed differently, had learned how to enhance my looks, and had my pick.”
“What did she teach you?”
“Never to let a client know where I lived. Those first few patrons used an inn until they rented an apartment for me. To ask for what I wanted, not just what I needed. ’Tis amazing how often men allow their cocks to make decisions for them. That sort of thing.”
He sat back, a stunned look on his face.
“I hoarded my funds and learned what I needed. I never wanted to be hungry or scared again. And I rarely was. Once my reputation was established, I could make my own rules. Sure, some men wanted more creativity.” Her grin was sly. “That cost them a pretty penny.”
“But you’ve lived here several years, and your patrons have come to your home.”
“True. I can pick and choose my clients now. There is more interest than I can accommodate, given the nature of my work. I only ever have one patron at a time, as they expect that for what they pay. But I am also well-known enough in the demi-monde circles that if I even whispered about someone hurting me, there would be hell to pay. I have left almost all my clients on good terms.”
“Good, good.” He nodded.
She almost believed he worried for her safety. But why should he? She suddenly felt embarrassed to have shared all that. It was one thing for him to know she was a courtesan; it was another for him to picture what she meant by stupid words like “creativity.” Only a few months, and she was out of the habit of managing an attractive man’s perception of her, dammit.
He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but she had no desire to rehash any more of the past.
“That is enough reminiscing for one night. I am going to read a book in the parlor before bed. Would you care to join me?”
He stood and followed her.
Belle had notread a single word. Oh, she’d turned pages and ensured she appeared engrossed.
However, when his head bent over his book, her gaze strayed to peruse his form. Long and lean, he tended to lollop rather than sit. He seemed to have developed a tendre for her settee and went from a slouch with an elbow propped on the armrest to hold his head, to diagonal across it with one knee bent across it and the other foot on the floor, to full out, head on a pillow against one arm with stocking feet hanging over the opposite end.
His shoulders had just enough muscle to keep things interesting in the bedroom, but his waist and hips were narrow, and his long legs made her wish to see them without clothes.
His thick hair begged for her fingers.
What was she thinking? This was a passing fancy. Goodness,hewas a passing fancy; he’d be gone in a matter of days.
After an hour, she’d given up and announced she was going to bed.
At his complacent nod, she became irritated. “Get up. You have not yet earned the right to your own bed and room. Therefore, you are also retiring, so I can ensure you stay where you’re supposed to before I sleep.”
“Oh, right.” He scrambled off the sofa.
He followed her up the stairs, and she considered that he was almost as eager to please as Charlotte’s William.No, Belle. He’s leaving. Do not compare him to a loving long-term union.Or at least one she hoped would be long-term if her dear friend Charlotte would get her head out of her arse.
They each changed in their own bedroom, after which he entered hers with a soft knock and she locked him into place, looser than the first night due to his scratched wrists. The night passed without incident, although she suspected neither of them slept all that much.
She offered him the same choice the next morning, and he responded with the same selection, this time polishing the main entranceway. The downstairs maid, Bridget, may have noticed her predilection for giving him jobs on his knees. Both women had spent the previous day near windows facing the back garden. On the second day, Belle had shoved a chair over two feet, completely out of alignment with the rest of the seating area, so she had a view of the front hall. Bridget’s frequent trips between first floor rooms interrupted her fascination with his arse. Her staff knew looking was acceptable, including watching her if a client liked to show off his prowess.
Thus, her day had been less than productive, and by supper she was out of sorts with no outlet for her awakened senses. His body might appeal, but she preferred men in her bed, rather than boys. Charlotte’s William might be the same age as Luke, but he had already taken control of his life. Luke needed to command his own respect before he could expect hers, and she had long ago stopped sleeping with men whom she did not respect. She only hoped her brain continued to keep her body from soliciting him.
As soup was served, he skipped trivialities and leaped in where they’d left off the prior evening. “How did you come to be in the Black Widow’s office that night? She said she is a... matchmaker?”
