Esme shrugged. She and Jane both made their livings from their bodies, though in very different ways. Her friend’s life as a lightskirt wasn’t one Esme had ever taken to in the short time she’d participated, but Jane didn’t seem to hate it.
“What about you?” Jane asked. “That eye looks nasty.”
Esme lifted her hand to the bruise and thought of Delacourt’s concern earlier in the night. His expression had appeared truly troubled though he’d stopped pushing after she refused to share.
“I caught a right from the new chit Biggs is training,” Esme explained. “There’s nothing to worry about, it will heal up soon enough.” She stared at the half-eaten cake a moment and then back up at Jane. “I went to Donville tonight.”
Jane set her empty napkin away and arched a brow. “Did you now? And did you have any fun?”
“No. Well, not that kind, anyway,” Esme said, and then shifted. “I…I saw a man I knew in passing from…from before.”
That made Jane sit up straighter, her eyes widening. “What?”
“I had my mask on,” Esme said swiftly. “He didn’t recognize me. Even if he’d seen me, I doubt he would have. I wasn’t that important to him back in those days.”
Jane got up and paced the room, her anxiety on the subject plain. “This is exactly why I’m so opposed to you doing that exhibition at Ripley’s next week, Esme! Those exact kinds of men will be there. Men you’ll surely know from your time as Lady Charlotte Esmerelda, daughter of a duke.”
“He was a marquess,” Esme said her softly, and tried not to think of her father’s face, his smile.
Jane sighed. “It’s all the same to us, love. I promise you that.”
Esme shrugged. She corrected out of habit, even two years after she fled her previous life, her title, her money…and the horrors that went along with it since the death of her father.
She took a deep breath, calmed herself, at least outwardly. “Ripley owns the club and he’ll pay me and Betty a good sum for the time. Enough to pay for the house for almost three months and put aside some after. Plus, I get a cut of any wagers and who knows how much that will be. You know those fops love to bet on anything and don’t care how much they lose.”
She could see she was making headway with Jane with those arguments, even if her worry was still plain.
“You’ll still be in my corner that day, won’t you?” Esme asked.
Jane rolled her eyes. “Of course. I’ve been the corner woman for the Hellion since she made her stunning debut. I wouldn’t abandon her now, would I?”
Relief flowed through Esme. “Good. If you’re there you can keep any of them from trying to talk to me afterward. And I’ll be masked anyway, so they won’t have a clue. They only see what I want them to see, don’t they?”
“They do at that,” Jane agreed. “If there’s one thing about those fops, it’s that they could never imagine someone like them falling so low as us.”
Esme bent her head. “That’s definitely true. Anyway, I’m sure they’ve all forgotten the old me. Or believe her to be dead. All that’s left of me now is the Hellion, London’s Bruising Lady Champion.”
“I hated that board,” Jane said with a laugh. “And the drawing they had of you was awful.”
“I looked a little like a fiend, I agree,” Esme said, and now she was laughing too, despite the emotions any talk of her old life brought up. “Come on, let’s take the rest of your treats to the kitchen and eat them there and then I just want to collapse in my bed and sleep off this day.”
Jane smiled at her and motioned for the door. “Agreed.”
Esme followed her friend from the room with her smile falling. She feared that her encounter with the Earl of Delacourt wouldn’t be so easy to forget, but she had to do just that. Her life was here now, completely separated from his. And if she was lucky, she’d never see him ever again.
CHAPTER 3
It had been a week since Finn’s encounter with the mystery woman at the Donville Masquerade and he’d been trying to forget her ever since. The encounter had been brief, after all. It hadn’t led to any pleasure. There was no reason for thoughts of her to enter his head. For questions about her injury to make him pace the floor at night.
And yet he’d found himself thinking of her more than once, pondering why she’d called himmy lordand wondering if he would ever see her again.
“Finn, are you going to drink your tea? It’s getting cold,” his sister, Marianne, said, reaching across to cover his hand gently.
They were seated in her parlor at her home and he forced himself to stop thinking about inappropriate things and focus. “I’m sorry. I’ve just a lot of my mind.”
Her expression softened. “I understand that.”
He leaned closer, examining her face carefully. She looked tired, her brown eyes that were so like his were sad. “I know it’s been difficult for you lately,” he said gently. “With the loss of Claudia.”
