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Marguerite stepped into their destined room and Jeremy followed, closing the door behind them. She stood waiting on him, a slow smile spreading as she opened her pink dressing gown, revealing smooth, naked flesh for his pleasure. Dark-budded nipples hardened as he looked her over. Pert breasts, long legs, and a pretty quim all waiting for his hands and his mouth and his cock. There for the taking. He told himself to get it over with. That he’d feel better when it was done.
Jeremy closed his eyes as he reached for her, hoping to make it easier.
It did nothing to help him forget…
* * * *
…Sitting on the side of the bed, Jeremy held his head in his hands, elbows propped on restless knees. “I can’t do this now. I need to go from this place.”
“Is it me? Would you like a different girl?”
Yes, a different girl, named Georgina. “No, it’s not you. You’re fine, luv. It’s me. I shouldn’t be here. I am not myself.” And I can’t get hard for anyone but her, apparently.
“Your heart is taken by another?”
Jeremy sighed. Yes. “Trying to forget is harder than I thought it would be.” He shook his head, incredulous at baring his soul to a prostitute. Putting the money on the side table, he smirked up at her. “Don’t tattle on me?”
“Never, sir.” Marguerite pulled on her robe, looking at him in wonder. “She is a lucky woman to have got you. Can I beg you to stay for just a few minutes?”
“Why?”
“The men in the hall—I don’t wish to go with them again, and I might avoid it if I am engaged with another patron.”
“I know the elder one. Do they come here often?”
“Just last night. The older man is uncle to the younger. Our abbess, Madame Therese, is not glad for their patronage. They’ve caused trouble before, hurting girls.”
“What happens?”
“They seek a ménage, one woman for the two of them, and their touch is harsh and painfully given. None of the girls like to service them, so the price goes higher. They feel they are being robbed, thus their treatment is even more punishing.”
“Was it you last night?” Jeremy asked gently, feeling sorry for her.
Marguerite nodded. “I am saving money so I can go to France, to Calais. I have a sister there. I only agreed to go with them because of the coin. I told myself it was worth it.”
“They hurt you. I saw bruises on your skin.” Jeremy felt suddenly sick thinking of Georgina suffering rough treatment at the hands of Pellton if she’d accepted him for a husband.
“I survived it, and besides, they indicate they will have no need to continue coming here. They boasted that soon they will not have to pay for their wicked
pleasures for the elder intends to marry, and once he has the girl, they can both use her as they wish and she can do nothing about it. The nephew even bragged that he had tried her out and found her most satisfactory for she fought him and he liked that about her. I cannot imagine why a lady of society would agree to marry into such a family.” Marguerite shook her head, pondering the mysteries of the rich and entitled.
Jeremy felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was Pellton’s nephew who raped her. That is why Pellton knew she wasn’t a virgin!
“Marguerite, did they seem sure that the elder would marry the girl?”
“He appeared confident and boasted that when he wed her they wouldn’t have to pay for their ménages anymore.”
Feeling cold, freezing fear engulf him, Jeremy prayed for rationality to overcome the sudden need for vengeance swimming through his blood. “Thank you,” he told Marguerite, thinking he owed her a great debt. “I now know why I was supposed to come here tonight.”
He fished open his money purse and pulled out some bills and a card, handing them to her. “Take this, Marguerite. Visit this address and see a Mr. Paulson when you’re ready. Give your name—I’m sorry, what is your surname?”
“LeSavior. Marguerite LeSavior.”
“Right,” he said, thinking the angels must be laughing down at him right now. A “savior” she certainly was. “You’ll have comfortable passage to Calais whenever you want. Go to your sister. Make a life. You deserve better than this.”
“Why would you do such a kindness for me, sir?”
“Because I have the means to do so and it is no hardship for me to help you, but mostly because you have helped me. More than you can ever know, Miss Marguerite LeSavior.” He bowed. “Thank you,” he said to her at the door, thinking that if he ever had a daughter she might just have to be styled with the name Marguerite, at least for one of her names.
