“I’d quite like to go back to bed,” Micha snapped, interrupting whatever playful observation Thomas was making about the things he supposed worth fainting over.
“Of course you do.” Thomas was instantly contrite. “I am so sorry. Here, let me help you.”
The housekeeper excused herself and fled. Whatever she had seen on Micha’s face had made her turn pale. And that was good. Well, good for him. The more anxious he made her, the easier it would be to get what he wanted. Thomas, of course, would have stayed with him, but Micha waved him off imperiously. He wanted to be alone with his cravings and his scheme. At last, he was somewhat in control of the situation. It made even the aches, sweats, and shivers just about endurable. Soon he would know relief, and that was enough. After opium, cessation was one of Micha’s few remaining bodily satisfactions. He rarely expected, or wanted, to feel anything, but there was a certain private solace in afterwards, when things stopped, when the client was gone, when he was once again his own. Opium was like that too. It brought him cessation from the world as a whole.
And Mrs. Clark would be back. He knew it. He had nothing to lose and she had too much.
442
Fuckingwhorecuntslutdoxyfuckingmandrakecocksuckingpricklovingsodomitewhore.
He comes, yanking off the sheath to spatter my back and arse with his clammy spendings, and it’s over.
It was nearly midnight when Mrs. Clark tapped softly on his door and glided inside.
“I came to bring you some fresh pillows.” She hovered on the threshold, clutching a bundle of sheets protectively to her chest.
Micha hauled himself upright. “No you didn’t.”
She hung her head, and the heavy coils of her hair made her look like a flower in a storm. After an awkward moment, she tumbled what she was carrying onto the nearest chair. “I thought we should talk.”
“Then, let’s talk, Mrs. Clark. Or should I say, Mademoiselle Defleur.”
She flinched visibly. How satisfying it was to wield, for once, the petty blade. To be the one to cause the hurt instead of feel it. Fair payment for her careless smiles, though Micha would never have admitted they had wounded him.
“That was never my name,” she said, at last. “And I go by Mrs. Clark these days.”
“And whose name is that? Not Mr. Clark’s, I’m sure of it.”
She shook her head. “As I’m sure you’re well aware, there is no such person, nor has there ever been. I needed the respectability of widowhood.”
“Call yourself whatever you want, you’re still a whore and the daughter of a whore.”
He waited, so he could watch her react, but this time her composure did not falter. She met his gaze calmly. “I kept your secret.”
“For now,” he sneered.
“Forever. We come from the same place. I would not betray any who tried to escape it.”
“Actually, we don’t. I fell to the gutter. You were born to it.”
“If that distinction matters to you, then yes.”
He curled his lip. “Oh, you’re worse than he is. Are you two fucking?”
“He has been kind to me.”
“Kind. Hah, he’s kind to everyone. I bet he spurts the milk of human kindness when he comes.”
If Micha had expected to shock Madame Defleur’s daughter, he was doomed to disappointment. “He has only tried to help you,” she murmured.
“Yes, and now you’re going to help me too.”
She folded her hands primly in front of her. “Why should I do that, Michael Dashwood?”
“Because you know what will happen if you don’t. I don’t know how you landed this job, but it can’t have been through honest toil and merit. Generally, women who open their legs to all comers don’t get to run respectable households.”
“My place is held through merit, but you are correct. I did not win it honestly. I was desperate. Surely you can understand that.”
