Sweat trickled beneath Wei’s cravat. The air in the wardrobe had grown warm, and Lady Glory’s scent tickled his nose. It wasn’t perfume—she was too clever to compromise her disguise—but her own subtle essence, sweet and elusive. It reminded him of something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. As she took in the debauched scene, her eyes were the size of supper plates, and he had the distinct urge to cover her all-too-curious gaze.
“My lips are sealed.” Christabel’s vow was sultry. “You can tell me anything.”
His eyes glazed with lust, Farwell said, “I’ve landed meself a plum job with one o’ the premier East End outfits. The Fancy…you’ve ’eard o’ them, eh?”
Bloody hell. The situation is worse than I thought.
When Wei had opened his clinic five years ago, he’d been shocked by the lawlessness in the East End. Police had seldom patrolled his Whitechapel neighborhood; he didn’t know whether the cause was fear or bribes. What he did know was that when he’d asked for help, they’d turned him away. No stranger to corruption—he’d dealt with his share of it in his homeland—Wei had not been deterred.
He had organized a night watch made up of his students and neighbors. The concerted efforts of the community made life harder for the thieves, pickpockets, and cutthroats who preyed on the vulnerable. This did not endear him to the underworld element; some of the gangs had even issued threats, leaving pigeons with broken necks on his doorstep as warnings.
On a few occasions, they’d done more than threaten. This had required Wei to demonstrate, through force, his commitment to keeping his neighborhood safe. Most of the gangs had learned to steer clear of him, but the Fancy was the most brutal of the lot. They ran everything from protection rackets to burglary rings, terrorizing local denizens into submission. The few who resisted suffered injuries or ended up floating in the Thames.
Now it sounded like the Fancy was behind the dognapping scheme. Wei’s gut knotted. He did not want Lady Glory anywhere near the bloodthirsty gang.
“If you’re a member o’ the Fancy,” Christabel said, “then you must be a very powerful fellow.”
“Ain’t a member exactly,” Farwell admitted. “I’m more o’ what you’d call a consultant.”
Christabel walked her fingers up his chest. “Important and powerful. An irresistible combination.”
“Went to ’em, I did, wif an idea,” Farwell said proudly. “I discovered a product that folks’ll pay anyfin’ for. Even be’er, these goods are simple to obtain…why, you can practically scoop ’em right off the street. The Fancy stashes the goods while I collect the blunt from interested parties. Everybody wins.”
Feeling Lady Glory bristling beside him, Wei put a staying hand on her shoulder. She turned to him; even in the dimness, he could see the fire in her eyes.
Observe only, he mouthed.
But the blighter is operating a dognapping ring!
He had to bite back a smile at her response, which she’d managed to make emphatic despite only mouthing the words. His attention was diverted by the sound of running water and Christabel’s suggestive words.
“Time to get me wet, sir.”
Lady Glory swung her gaze back to the viewing hole. Wei saw that Christabel had shed her robe, revealing her generous mud-caked breasts and hips, with only a strip of cloth covering her sex. Water rained from the overhead nozzle, and she stepped beneath the spray, rivulets of dirty water streaming over her full, glistening curves.
“Use the soap,” Christabel said huskily. “I’m a very dirty hussy this eve.”
Farwell shed his clothes as if they were on fire. When he reached for his waistband, Wei couldn’t stand it any longer. He clapped his hands over Lady Glory’s eyes and pulled her away from the viewing hole.
Feeling her struggle against him, he whispered in her ear, “This is not fit for a lady’s eyes.”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t fit for a lady’s ears either.
“Bleeding ’ell, you’ve fine tits.” Farwell’s voice was thick with lust. “Big and plump, wif nipples like cherries.”
“Keep soaping me,” Christabel purred. “You’re getting me into a real lather.”
Wei wished he could plug Lady Glory’s ears. At least she had stopped squirming. Perhaps she’d finally realized the dire risk of the situation. He had to protect her modesty as best he could…which wasn’t easy, given the increasingly degenerate talk.
“You don’t need my ’elp to get soaked down ’ere.” Farwell’s words seemed to reverberate within the wooden closet. “What I wouldn’t give to dip my wick in that hot, wet pussy o’ yours.”
Wei felt Lady Glory grow very still, her cheeks warm beneath his palms. Warm and…soft. In the steamy air, her mustache had come unglued, dangling from one end and exposing her mouth. It was a good thing that she’d thought to hide her lips, for they were feminine, full and soft-looking. Her tongue flicked out, wetting the rosy rim, and sudden heat flooded his groin.
Shock washed over him, followed by an undertow of self-disgust.
What the bloody hell is wrong with me? This is Lady Glory, and I am responsible for her.
Wei’s churning thoughts were cut short by Christabel’s firm voice.
