Page 68 of One Night with a Rake

She didn’t just care for Nathaniel. She was connected to him somehow. When he laughed, her heart was full to bursting. When he frowned, her own chest ached. Even when he irritated her beyond bearing, she knew she’d rather be frustrated with him than spend time in desperate, dead calm with anyone else.

She hurt when he hurt. If he suffered a cut, she wouldn’t be surprised to find herself bleeding. Something in him called to something in her and she couldn’t help but answer.

I love him, Georgette realized between one step and the next.

It was the only explanation for her insanity.

She and the madam had much more in common than she would have guessed. The knowledge distracted her so fully, she was unable to pay much attention to anything else.

Which explained why she didn’t see her attacker waiting in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs. She wasn’t even aware of his presence until the burlap bag closed over her head.

***

“Now that there’s less competition on Lackaday Lane, we only see the gents we wants to,” one of Mercy’s friends told her while Mercy took tea with the girls in the little kitchen at the rear of the House of Pleasure.

“And don’t none of ’em bring out the paddles no more,” another said. “Unless it’s for us to paddle them.”

“Sounds like things have changed for the better here, then,” Mercy said as she sipped her tea and nibbled on a ginger biscuit.

“Want to come back, Mercy? There’s plenty o’ fellows who still ask about ye.”

“No, I’ve gotten used to having a bed to myself.” She was happy for the change in situation for her friends, but returning to the House of Pleasure would feel like going backward for her.

Besides, if she were no longer at Yorkingham House, it would make it difficult to ignore Reuben Darling so completely. And she was enjoying that far too much to consider other arrangements.

After they collected the footman at the House of Sirens, he’d followed her and Lady Georgette across the lane like a whipped pup. Of course, he’d straightened and scowled at the bully when they first arrived at Madam Bouchard’s door, but once milady was escorted upstairs with every courtesy, Reuben had started trying to explain to Mercy again how he’d come to spend a night with a whole houseful of lightskirts.

Even without his protestations, she knew he hadn’t intended to spend the night in a whorehouse. And she was certain sure that Mrs. Throckmorten wasn’t the type to allow any malarkey under her well-ordered, if not well-shingled, roof.

But it never hurt to keep a man begging.

And Reuben was ready to lick the sole of her boot if she’d only allow it.

She’d let him simmer a little longer. Then maybe he’d be willing to give up this silliness about love and just settle in to have a good time with her while a good time was to be had. Hadn’t Vesta’s death proved none of them could count on tomorrow?

The first time she heard a scuffle in the front of the house, she wasn’t a bit concerned. For all his faults, Reuben was a handy lad in a pinch. Whatever was afoot, she was satisfied he could handle it.

But then she thought she heard a woman cry out. There was a pounding of rushing feet and a door slammed hard enough to knock it off its hinges.

Mercy let her teacup clatter back into its chipped saucer and ran into the front room.

Mr. Duggins was slumped in the corner, his chin sagging to his chest. Judging from the way one of his eyes was swelling shut, someone had knocked him into next week.

Mercy felt a twinge of satisfaction over that. The bully had always terrified her more than a little.

But the sight that greeted her eyes near the door wiped away any smugness. Reuben Darling was face down on the scuffed hardwood.

She flew to his side, calling his name. A goose-egg-sized lump was forming on the back of his skull. With help from the other girls she managed to turn him over and cradled his head in her lap. His eyes were half-open, but he didn’t seem to see anything. Only the steady rise and fall of his broad chest confirmed that he was still alive.

“Oh, Reuben,” Mercy chanted, rocking him softly. “Who did this to you? Quick,” she ordered Ninian, the youngest of the House of Pleasure whores, “run up to Madam’s and tell Lady Georgette what’s happened. Someone go for a doctor.”

“Won’t no doctor come to Lackaday Lane.”

“They will when you tell them a lady of quality is here and she’ll pay,” Mercy spat out. “Christ Almighty, do I have to think of everything?”

The girl who’d run up to Madam’s parlor came pounding back down the stairs. “Your mistress is gone.”

If Lady Georgette had been there, she’d have probably swooned dead away at the way Mercy swore over that bit of news. But milady wasn’t there. And Mercy knew as surely as Reuben and the bully were out cold that Lady Georgette hadn’t left the House of Pleasure willingly.