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"Stop it!" Sammy began to struggle. "Unhand me at once!"
"Unhand 'er!" the second stalker mocked, "Well, maybe the lady prefers t' entertain in private, Gates. What do ye say we find out?"
"No!" Wildly, Sammy fought against her unyi
elding captor. He dragged her with him as if she weighed nothing, with only an occasional grunt to indicate he was aware of her struggles.
"Feisty, ain't she? 'Ope she's as good when we get 'er 'ome," the third derelict chimed in.
"Gates, just what do you think you're doing?" A clear female voice rang out through the night.
Sammy's captor came to a dead halt. "Cynthia?"
"I asked what you were doing!" Cynthia walked purposefully toward them, her eyes ablaze.
"We're just 'avin' a little fun, that's all."
"With one of Annie's girls? You know better than that!"
Gates's eyes bulged. "This 'ere's one of Annie's? But she looks like—"
"I don't care what she looks like! Do you want me to march in there and tell Annie that the three of you are abducting her newest employee? If so, I will—and then I wouldn't dare show my face at Annie's again, if I were you."
'"Ell, no!" the third man cut in hastily. "Ye know we don't mess with Annie's girls. We just didn't know." He averted his head. "Let 'er go, Gates," he ordered his friend, who was still clutching a white-faced Samantha. "Now. My favorite woman works at Annie's."
With a muttered oath, Gates thrust Sammy at Cynthia. "First you, now 'er. Cynthia, tell Annie she should start hiring girls that look like whores, not blue bloods." He turned his back. "Let's go," he muttered to his friends.
Sammy waited until they'd disappeared before she collapsed. Leaning against the brick wall behind her, she began to shake uncontrollably. "Thank you," she whispered.
"You're welcome." Gently, Cynthia steadied Sammy's trembling shoulders. "Are you all right?"
"I think so ... thanks to you."
"What on earth are you doing here?"
"I'm ... that is ..." Sammy closed her eyes. "It's too complicated to explain."
"Try me. I'm a good listener."
Opening her eyes, Sammy regarded her rescuer. "You're the one who was serving him his drink," she blurted out.
"Who?"
"My ..." Sammy paused. What could she call Remington? He wasn't her husband, nor even her betrothed. In fact, he regarded her as a burdensome child. And she certainly couldn't explain to this . . . woman that Remington was her hero. "The gentleman at the far table. Remington Worth. The Earl of Gresham," she said at last.
"Ah, I see." A small smile played about Cynthia's lips. "You're concerned about your man's fidelity, are you? Well, I wouldn't take his visits here too much to heart. I'm sure he places you on the appropriate pedestal—his chaste and precious possession. Unfortunately, he, like all men, are governed primarily by their sordid needs. Sex is their compulsion, indulging in it their God-given right."
"If you feel that way, why do you provide it?"
Cynthia's eyes glittered with suppressed emotion. "The answer is ugly—I assure you, you don't want to hear it."
"What is it I don't want to hear? That you've chosen to service men for a living?"
"Chosen?"
Bitterness clogged Cynthia's throat. "Do you honestly believe I've chosen this sort of life? No, genteel lady, my vile job was thrust upon me." '"You're forced to lie with men?" Sammy was horrified.
"I told you the truth was ugly."
