Her stomach churned. Some brothels might be plush, housing the elite of Mayfair’s courtesans, but not that far east. It would be a low, murky place with desperate, possibly diseased women.
Thinking of Foxford going indoors with them amongst the tattered bed-hangings, the filthy sheets with bedbugs, perhaps even lice, and the worn canvas curtains, not to mention the worn women, Purity shuddered and took a step back.
“I let them out of my carriage, and they went inside,” he continued. “My driver took me home to write my assignment before I had a well-earned glass of brandy. And I dispatched the pages to you first thing.”
Wanting to trust him, Purity almost allowed herself, except ... It didn’t beg believing. He was Foxy, the Fox, the BachelorBaron, and all that. Even then, he was ridiculously attractive despite being a base and shameless libertine.
“You must excuse me if I find it difficult to accept a version in which you allow your fine carriage to be used as a hackney for London’s light-skirts and then drop them off without enjoying their charms.”
“That’s because they hadn’t any.”
“You seemed amused by them when I walked by,” she shot back.
After a hesitation, he said, “You are jealous.” And then his annoyingly smug grin returned to his handsome face.
“Do not be absurd.” She fisted her hands at her sides, wishing he wasn’t correct. She was seethingly jealous of those blasted blowsabellas, but she was determined to fight her feelings for him tooth and nail until he was nothing more to her than a worn-out shoe.
“I don’t have any personal interest in you beyond a sense of pity for the woman whom you take as your wife, for she shall have to put up with your philandering.” Purity detested the tenor of their confrontation, and her queasiness grew. “I have already asked you to leave.”
His expression darkened. “I haven’t lied to you.” Then he caught himself and his gaze slipped sideways before returning to hers. She wondered which lie he was recalling.
“At least, not about this,” Foxford hedged.
“Oh!” she tossed up her hands in frustration while expelling a breath of utter exasperation. “You are impossible!”
“I am telling you the truth. Why would I take common Drury Lane vestals when I can afford a flash mollisher any day of the year — orevery dayfor that matter?”
His anger had returned, and he stepped nearer, causing Purity to glance down the far end of the room where Alice dozed like an old dog.
“Youare the one who is impossible,” he insisted, closing the distance to stand toe-to-toe with her. “I have done everything you’ve instructed me to do, as if you are my sergeant. I haven’t stepped a hairsbreadth out of line, not even when I desperately wanted to do this.”
With those menacing words, he grasped her around her waist so swiftly she didn’t have time to pull away or to shout. And then he claimed her mouth.
She melted. It was the only word she could think of with a brain turned quickly to mush. Purity would swear he had the touch of a necromancer, putting a mystical spell over her. For whenever he was close, she was not herself. Heat spread within. Flames licked through her body, making her breasts feel heavy and her nipples grow taut. Even more maddening was the throbbing pulse at her core.
Leaning into him, she tilted her head and returned his kiss with vigor. Somehow, her hands were already behind his head, and her fingers were threading into his hair.So soft.
Foxford groaned before demanding entrance to her mouth and sliding his tongue inside when she granted it. At the same time, his hands left her waist to cup her buttocks and grind her against his hips.
The room fell away. Her very existence as Lady Purity Diamond seemed to disintegrate. She was pure sensation instead. Breathing raggedly, her heart pounding, her body hot and drenched with pleasure. She wanted what men and women had been doing throughout time.
And she wanted that with Foxford!She could feel his arousal against her stomach and knew it meant he wanted her just as badly.
How long they kissed, fused by eager mouths with their bodies pressed so close her breasts were flattened against his chest, she had no idea. But all the while, his strong fingers flexedover her backside, making her long to experience his practiced touch all over her sizzling skin.
And then, he drew back. No longer did the baron look smug or angry. She would vow he appeared as stunned as she was.
“Why would I waste my time with any other woman?” he repeated.
She put her hand to her lips. They still felt warm and, if she could credit the sensation, a little swollen.
“In case you still think I am frequenting the lowliest brothels in London, I tell you in all earnestness and swear upon my father’s soul that I did nothing more than offer those women a ride home. A small part of me thought you would be proud of my chivalry.” He tugged upon the sleeve of his frock coat.
“And when I do take a wife, she shall have no need to worry about other women — whores or not — for I shall be entirely devoted to her. Good day.”
Then he took his leave. After the sound of his footsteps died out, she still stood frozen, thinking herself every inch a dunce. She’d takenThe Timessmall kernel, as he’d called it before, and made a twelve-course meal of it, adding in details that were not even written.
If only he hadn’t been so vulgar as to use the wordwhore.
