Page 66 of One Night with a Rake

“And what if one of your girls wants to leave?”

“She’s free to walk right across the lane to the House of Sirens whenever she likes. I’ll help her pack.” Madam Bouchard offered a plate of mince biscuits, but Georgette declined with a shake of her head. “There are always more girls who’re willing to lift their skirts. Truth to tell, an establishment like mine benefits from a change in staff from time to time. Gentlemen do like variety.”

“But someone is unhappy about the changes around here,” Georgette said. “You’ve heard about Vesta’s death, I assume?”

The madam put her teacup down. “Aye, that’s bad business, is that.”

“You know everything that happens here on Lackaday Lane.” Georgette figured a little flattery couldn’t hurt, especially since it was likely the truth. “Who do you think did this terrible thing?”

The aging whore turned her lips inward for a moment. “Someone who couldn’t bear not to, I’d expect.”

Georgette blinked hard, not certain she’d heard her properly.

“I see I’ve shocked you. I’m about to do it a bit more, but I think it’s important that you understand,” Madam Bouchard said. “Sadie O’Toole had a few customers who needed to hurt people.”

Georgette’s belly roiled like a pan of jellied eels.

“Now since they don’t have a place where they can do so in peace, they may have decided to find ways to do it on the sly.” The madam cocked her head at Georgette, like a merlin eyeing the field mouse it intends for dinner. “I can see you still don’t understand. Well, you likely wouldn’t, being yet a maiden.”

So, the fact that she was no longer a virgin wasn’t as readily apparent as she feared.

“I understand Vesta was strangled,” the madam said.

Georgette nodded.

“It is a little known fact that for some people, pleasure during the act of love is enhanced if they are deprived of breath,” the madam said. “They call themselves ‘gaspers,’ and while I don’t quite understand the allure myself, I can’t deny the practice exists.”

Georgette shook her head in disbelief. Evidently, one night with a rake did not mean her education into sensual things was exhaustive.

“But this was brutal. Violent. Vesta’s neck was broken as well. Her clothing was undisturbed so no one was…I mean, she wasn’t…”

“No one sent her off with a good hard swive, you’re saying,” the madam said. “That puts this in a different category then. Most gaspers want to be choked and they trust the one who’s doing the choking.”

“That’s not true in this case. I’ve been told it was fast. This was an assault. And that Vesta likely didn’t even see her attacker. There was nothing…consensual about it.”

“Well, consensual or not, there’s ways of pleasing and ways of taking pleasure. It takes all sorts, they do say.”

“Not that sort,” Georgette said, wishing desperately for a bath. She’d never felt so dirty. “No one should be allowed to hurt someone in order to pleasure themselves.”

“The line between pleasure and pain is sometimes very thin.” The madam smiled enigmatically. “You’ve never been paddled, have you? Wait until after you’ve had a good bum-warming and we’ll talk again.”

Twenty-five

Nathaniel trudged doggedly down Lackaday Lane after deciding he’d check on the House of Sirens. He could still feel the sizzle of Georgette’s irritation with him. She’d undoubtedly be stewing after being left behind all morning, but he was in no hurry to return to her.

In fact, he was ready to tell Lord Yorkingham that he was done being Georgette’s public escort and private nursemaid. There were only days till the grand ball when she’d slip from him forever. This little melodrama could only end one way—with the infuriating woman he loved deciding to accept the suit of a royal duke twice her age.

Nathaniel decided he didn’t want to stick around and watch the final act. If he couldn’t convince her to abandon her royal aspirations with a night of loving, there was no hope he could change her mind with anything else.

There was only one consolation. At least with a royal husband, Georgette would be so hemmed about with courtiers and guards, she’d be unlikely to get herself into any more dangerous adventures.

Well, actually, there’s another small consolation, he admitted to himself as he stepped around the trickle of yellow slime that ran down the middle of the lane.

Nathaniel had been Georgette’s first. In the years to come, even if her marriage to the Duke of Cambridge did warm beyond the state of cordial strangers, she’d still remember Nathaniel.

A woman didn’t forget the man to whom she’d given her maidenhead.

And he’d never forget her.