Page 70 of Cocky August Rake

Her gaze dropped to the table. And when she just shook her head, Reginald’s hand tightened around his cup.

Rose glanced toward the sugar bowl. “I didn’t taste sugar again for a very long while.”

She brought her hand back up to the table.

“When I came to The Domus, there was always sugar. In the tea, in the kitchen—bowls of it left sitting about, forgotten, seemingly.”

She opened her hand.

Three small, irregular lumps of loaf sugar rested upon her palm.

“I always keep a few pieces with me.” She began to close her fingers. “It’s foolish.”

“No.”

Her gaze lifted.

Reginald nodded toward the sugar. “They’re provisions.”

“Provisions?”

“In case the world runs short again.”

Rose stared at him.

Then her fingers closed carefully around the sugar, and she tucked it away again.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Something like that.”

Reginald looked down at his cup.

Some part of him had believed that spending more time with this woman would expose the flaws beneath her beauty. That familiarity would make her less captivating.

That once and for all, he could chase her out of his dreams.

Instead, with each new glimpse into her person, her past… he found himself even more entangled.

Perhaps this all was part of her campaign to convince him. Perhaps she thought any of this could help her cause.

It didn’t matter.

If anything, coming to know the woman beneath the paint, the wigs, and the silk only strengthened his resolve to rid the world of one more brothel.

He wasn’t going to change his mind.

And he certainly wasn’t going to tell her he’d already found a buyer for The Domus.

A TASTE OF FREEDOM

Rose was quite happy to keep her promise to Reginald.

Not because she feared what he might do if she broke it. He hadn’t threatened her. He’d merely asked that she accept no clients that month.

And she had agreed.

Only then did Rose realize how much of each day her work consumed. Not merely the hours spent with gentlemen, but the dressing, the styling, all the private rituals before and after—the washing, perfuming, preparing clean cloths and protection, then washing again, tending any soreness, and making herself presentable once more.

During those first few days, Rose repeatedly reminded herself not to grow accustomed to such freedom. This was temporary. A reprieve, nothing more. It could be taken away as easily as it had been given.