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His eyes put an exceeding amount of focus on his buttons. “Trent invited me to join him,” he informed without raising his head.
Harriet had had the opportunity to meet the man in question when he visited the professor during his undergraduate years.
“Fine,” her voice came chillier than a February night.
It propelled him to lift his gaze. “Will you be well?” He did not look directly at her.
She did not look directly at him. “No doubt,” from chilling, she had gone positively frosty.
“Enjoy your evening,” he wished and turned quick to the entrance.
“Likewise.” He heard her just as the door closed behind him.
Sam did not have nights out, even when he stayed at his lodgings. A book and a dram of his father’s whisky were more than enough for his contentment. Noise and meaningless conversations did not do it for him. Since the professor travelled, he had been spending evenings in, and retiring early to keep the strained respectability he forced on himself. Even that seemed more preferable than carousing. That tonight he might find the relief he needed brought no enthusiasm. It was this or go crazy with the hunger eating at him.
By the time he arrived, Madame Drummond’s parlour buzzed in full swing. Noblemen, gentlemen of means and the doves mingled in a merry atmosphere. The parlour boasted a refined decoration with thick rugs, brocade-lined furniture and crystal chandeliers.
“There you are,” Trent sighted him and approached with a girl on each arm. He half turned to his left. “This is Marie, and here is Amelie,” he said turning to his right.
“Bon soir, monsieur,” came their greeting.
Sam eyed both girls, appearing barely to be twenty. Obviously, they were not French by any stretch of imagination; they only must have received the proper training to behave and sound so.
“Amelie here was just asking me to introduce you,” Trent drawled airily.
True or not, she had a duty to welcome new guests. Sam surveyed the girl with a little more attention. Despite being draped in flawless finery, the dress displayed a low neckline and a vibrant colour that held a vague resemblance with the ones Marie Antoinette might have worn. He wondered how these doves ended up in a place like this. Unfortunate lives, broken families, or poverty might have something to do with it. And then he thought about the exploitation of their misfortune by the Madame and these men wandering in the parlour.
But Amelie’s brown eyes met his with a hint of sauciness as she disengaged from Michael and came to his side. Sociological considerations became secondary.
“Can I get you anything to drink, monsieur?” she ventured, weaving her arm in his.
Near him, he scented the strong perfume emanating from her, churning his stomach. “Not as yet, thanks,” he answered. He ran the risk of shaming himself if he tried to swallow anything.
A fire roared in the fireplace and the crowd gave off a mixture of body odours that polluted the air. Apart from the glittering decoration, there was no disguising the vulgar atmosphere that was getting to Sam in a rather undisguised way.
“Perhaps the gentleman would like you to show him your little nest,” suggested Trent to the girl.
The dove’s finely coiffured apple-moth hair glimmered in the candlelight when she nodded enthusiastic. “Of course, mon cœur,” and turned to take him upstairs.
Sam had not even decided if he was really going to do this. The whole place spoke of flitting pleasures and a bitter after-taste. To say he seemed completely as a fish out of water would be a huge understatement. In truth, he felt cheap as if he was worth merely the money in his wallet. But the first time to everything would prove awkward, would it not? With that thought, he followed Amelie, and tried to go through with his intention. There could be no use obsessing with a woman that would never be his. He needed to move on and starting here was as good as anywhere.
When his mind stopped roaming, he saw himself inside a stuffed bedroom. Heavy drapes covered the window, dark wallpaper decorated the walls, and dubious quality velvet surrounded the four-poster taking a whole side of the space. The perfume here gave off even stronger vapours, maybe to overlap other…odours.
Amelie turned her delicate, even if unremarkable, face to him. “What would you like me to do to you?” she asked pouting red-painted lips at him.
He gaped when she went on to undo the front ribbons of her dress, making it yawn to reveal a sheer chemise under i
t. Momentarily speechless, he followed her progress. She presented him with a knowing smile while opening the bodice wider.
“Shall we start from the beginning?” he blurted out, green orbs flared to their largest width.
Her feminine form sashayed to him. “Here’s a thorough gentleman,” she praised as her shapely arms wound around his neck.
CHAPTER TWO
Harriet lay on her bed scrutinising the darkened ceiling as she had done for hours since she forced herself to retire. Or she might have sat waiting for a certain man to arrive from wherever he decided to spend the night.
Spend the night, for pity’s sake. Samuel. That studious pupil as the boy he had been. A scholarly graduate keen on the advancement of science. A man who showed not an inch of tendency towards debauchery. The man whose quiet, intellectual posture had always elicited admiration from a woman who loathed carousing idiots.
