1
London, February 17, 1819
Darkness weighed heavily on the city, only briefly interrupted by the occasional gas lamp. A musky smell clung to the damp winter air. The clamor of nighttime revelers burst from various taverns, brothels, and coffee houses along the Strand.
Lightheaded from too much drink, Stewart Warren made his way toward Fleet Street and prayed he’d find a hackney. Home was a good three miles away on the opposite side of the river — a small room stacked on top of a tanner’s shop. It wasn’t much, but his bed was there, waiting for him to collapse and slip into oblivion.
Honestly, he shouldn’t have come out tonight, but the lads had talked him into it. To be fair, drinking with them was better than drinking alone. Until it came to this — the cold and painful journey he had to make when all he wished for was sleep.
The tankards of ale he’d consumed should help him drift off. They usually did, by numbing his mind and peeling away the guilt that continued to plague him. War was a wretched business. It dug its talons into the gentlest of souls and left them forever scarred by the choices they’d made. Or failed to make.
He’d been a fool to enlist, but he’d been spurred on by his friends and the glory of fighting for king and country. Had he been smart, he’d have listened to his mother and stayed in England. Instead, he’d found himself on that muddy field, cannons blasting — blowing the world to pieces – while men became beasts.
It had been hell. A living nightmare he’d yet to escape. Whenever he closed his eyes, blood still flooded his mind’s eye. It flowed from mangled corpses and dripped from bayonets, reminding him of the horrors he’d witnessed.
Hence the drink. When it was truly bad, he’d take some laudanum too.
The clatter of hooves and the rattle of wheels at his back made him turn. He swayed on his feet, the dizziness worse now than when he’d departed the tavern. Yet somehow, he managed to raise his arm in an effort to flag down the vehicle, even though it was already slowing. It came to a halt beside him.
Thank the lord. He’d not have to walk any farther.
He prepared to give the driver directions, but then the door opened and a woman with long blonde hair appeared. Stewart blinked, attempted to find his balance, and staggered slightly beneath her gaze.
Her lips curved in an innocent smile, made all the more enticing by the hint of daring that gleamed in her eyes.
“Care to join me?” She angled her head. “I’ll make it worth your while if you give me a couple of pounds. Get you where you want to go and then some.”
Stewart snorted. Not because he wasn’t tempted. Hell, it felt like an age since he’d last enjoyed carnal pleasure, and it wasn’t every day a pretty young whore offered her wares. For the most part, the ones he’d been with were older and fatter, certainly cheaper.
“You’re asking more than I can afford.” He did his best to keep the words steady, but they still sounded slurred to his own ears.
“Pity,” she murmured. “You’re a fine-looking man. Wouldn’t mind a bit of that for a change.” Lips pursing, she leaned forward slightly, allowing her pelisse to fall open so he could glimpse what lay hidden beneath.
All he could do was stare at the nakedness she revealed with no more than a gauzy chemise. Trimmed with lace and ribbon, it strained against her plump breasts and left her milky-white thighs on open display.
Damn, but he wished he’d saved some more blunt for this moment. This woman was no lowly doxy, but rather an upper-class courtesan. An actress, perhaps? Or maybe a mistress who’d lost her protector?
He swallowed a groan of frustration while looking his fill. All he’d wanted was sleep but now another need burned through his body. Unfortunately, it was a problem he’d have to deal with alone since he’d only a few shillings left in his pocket.
Staggering slightly, he waved a dismissing hand as he swung away from the hackney, more desperate than ever to get himself home.
“Tell you what,” said the woman before he could stumble off into the night. “I’ll take whatever coin you have left if you also give me your cravat. As a token.”
Stewart paused. He couldn’t be this damn lucky, surely? He tried to marshal his fuzzy thoughts. “Why?”
A saucy smile curved her lips. “Courtesans have needs too and the man I was just with failed to satisfy mine.”
Stewart swayed on his feet. He’d be a fool to pass up her offer. It wasn’t the sort he could count on receiving again in the future.
He considered her as she sat there, patiently waiting with everything she had to offer on blatant display. “You’ll still take me home?”
“And make it worth your while,” she promised.
It was the kind of proposal he couldn’t ignore. Hell, he’d never forgive himself for it if he did. Besides, what reason did he have to say no?
None whatsoever.
So he thanked the heavens for his sweet fortune and stepped off the pavement. The woman retreated inside the carriage, making room for him to climb in. Stewart set his foot on the step.
