“Mr. Harper. He’s one of Suzy’s regulars. I want him.”
Colleen waited for more, but the girl remained silent. “That’s it? You want something so you think you should have it?” Molly hadn’t had parents for most of her life, Colleen had to remind herself. No one to teach her the sins of selfishness.
“Yes.” Molly dropped the tail of the whip and drew circles on the floor with it. “I’m a better courtesan than Suzy. Why shouldn’t I have him?”
“And how does Mr. Harper feel about this?”
Molly looked at her scornfully. “He’s a man. He’ll feel what I tell him to.”
“I hope you don’t hold all members of my sex in the same low regard.” Sutton stepped behind the girl’s shoulder. “We don’t all care to be led around by our … noses.”
“My lord!” Something dark flashed across Molly’s face before she spread her lips in a pleasing smile. Turning, she dropped a saucy curtsy. Resting her hand on his forearm, she leaned close. “There are exceptions to the general rule, of course. But I would love a chance to prove you wrong. Show you just how sweet life can be when guided by the firm hand of an experienced mistress.” She tapped his shoulder with the whip’s handle. “It can be a battle of wills. Trap us in a room for a couple of hours and see who’s the first to crack.”
Sutton leaned away from her and side-stepped towards Colleen. “As delightful as that sounds, forgive me if I pass. I have no desire to break or be broken myself.”
Molly inhaled deeply, and her breasts pressed against the organza, her hard nipples poking against the fabric. “Pity.”
Colleen stepped between them, blocking the baron’s line of sight to that exhibition. “My answer is no, Molly. Mr. Harper can request any girl he wants when he visits the club, and if he wants Suzy, he’ll get her. I won’t assign him elsewhere.”
“But—”
“That’s final.”
“Of course, mum.” Molly wrapped the tail of the whip around her palm. “I’d best get back to my slave.” She tossed her head, her sheaf of silky, nutmeg hair swinging, and marched across the room.
Sutton followed Colleen from the chamber. “You’re tough.”
“I have to be to keep people like her in line. I had thought of asking you if I could fire her, but as Molly said, she is one of the better courtesans. The club’s profits would take a hit if she weren’t here.” Colleen turned left, away from the main room, and made her way through the back halls to the second staircase leading to her private rooms. The baron was only a step behind, so she kept her back rigid, her steps firm, even though she longed for a bucket of ice water for her feet and a hot bath for the rest of her body. “Did you want something, my lord?”
“I wanted to know where you’d been all day.”
She slipped past her half-open door to her office, but he pushed it wide, filling the frame.
She tossed her reticule on her desk. “Out.”
“Out? Is that all the answer I am to receive?”
“It’s all that you’re owed.” She tugged off her gloves. “You’re my employer, not my father.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And as your employer, I expect a certain level of responsibility from those under me. You’re supposed to manage this place, not go traipsing around London. Unattended, no less.” He stalked towards her, and she backed around her desk. He followed. With his bushy beard and wild black hair, he was the very image of a rampaging Visigoth, or what she imagined one to look like.
Barbarians didn’t scare her. She planted her feet and tipped up her chin. “If you are displeased with my managerial style, I’m happy to conclude my employment now rather than next week. I’ll just take my premium and get out of your way.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed. “I apologize. When I couldn’t find you, and after that letter …. I apologize. Of course, I don’t want you to leave.” He pulled out her chair from behind the desk. “Please, sit.”
Ignoring the pain flaring in her heel, she stepped to the chair. She tugged off her coat and lay it across her desk before dropping into her seat.
He lowered his gaze, his dark green eyes growing hooded. “You’re in pain. Where?”
Colleen gaped. “There’s no way you can know that.”
“And yet, I do.” Pulling around another chair, he sank down in front of her. His gaze tracked up and down her body, assessing. “Are you ill?”
“No. I’m quite well.”
“Are you suffering a megrim?”
She gritted her teeth. “I said—”
