Page 57 of The Duke of Pain

Five women were standing at the head of the alley. Olivia could not keep the bile down, and she vomited. A black fog covered her, but she fought it. She could not fall unconscious, not now.

Fight.

“It’s just a bunch of bleedin’ back-alley Sallys. Feck off, the lot of ya!” Wool Trousers yelled.

A woman with red hair stepped out in front. Lifting her skirt, she whipped out a large knife from her garter.

“No, you feck off and all. I meant it about the copper. Leave now, and I won’t call for him, yeah?”

The men cursed, and Olivia heard their boots pounding away on the cobbles. The sound grew fainter until she made out the jingle of the harness as the carriage departed.

The red-haired woman kneeled and cradled her close. “Bleedin’ hell, but they worked you over.”

Another woman glanced down at her. “Ain’t never seen her before. What street does she work, I wonder? One of the Old Nichol’s Gang prossies maybe.”

“Give over, Cath! She’s in her nightdress. Here, help me. Can you stand, love?” The red-haired woman asked.

It took Olivia a few seconds to realize the question was addressed to her. She tried to speak, but her lip was swollen and split.

“C-c-c-can you take me to The Velvet Vine and Tackle?” she managed to say.

The other woman snorted. “I knew it. She’s the same as us.”

They both helped her stand. She wobbled, so the redhead grasped her arm tightly.

“Not same as us. The Velvet is a posh place. Classier than the alleys at any rate. It’s only a few streets over. I’ll take her. You lot get back out there as we’ve shillings to earn. Pass me her bag, Cath.”

The walk toward the brothel was laborious and slow as Olivia could hardly stand.

“Chin up, love,” the woman soothed. “We’re almost there. It’s lucky we came along. We have to look out for each other, sure as shite.”

The woman had a slight Irish accent and smelled of beer and rose-scented soap. Although tall and attractive, her clothes were shabby.

“Thank you. Please, what’s your name?” Olivia rasped.

“My name’s Mary O’Toole. When you’re feeling better, come down to the Ten Bells, and we’ll share a bowl of stew and a mug of ale. I’m there every day for lunch. What do you say, love?”

Olivia nodded.

Finally, they arrived. The woman banged on the door, and the small window slid open.

“It’s Olivia. Get Pan. Hurry.” Olivia managed to croak.

The blackness she fought so hard to keep back overcame her at last.

Chapter 17

Gideon caught the early train back to London. Be damned if he would stay in his stepfather’s presence a moment longer.

Their final words were acrimonious and bitter as usual with the duke’s closing pronouncement that he would not suffer a whore as Gideon’s wife. Gideon, in reply, told his stepfather to go straight to hell. A tender parting.

Gideon should never have mentioned Olivia the way he did, let alone his possible plans for marriage. All it had managed to accomplish was give his stepfather fuel for his vitriol. He knew better.

Dealing with Whinstone fermented old resentments and laid the damage bare. Well, at least he got a long-overdue punch out of the way. Physical altercations never solved anything, but it was damned satisfying at the moment.

Gideon adjusted the ruby cuff links on his shirt, then sat his hat on the seat next to him. The English countryside whizzed by his window, but it could not pass quick enough.

He ached for Olivia.