Julian snapped the case closed. “Yes. It doesn’t tell time anymore. The winding key is gone. Lost for good.” The watch was useless now, but he didn’t have it to keep the time. Ridiculous, to believe timecouldbe kept. A man couldn’t keep it any more than he could catch the sun and balance it on the horizon. He might keep a coach and four, hounds, a mistress—but he didn’t keep time.
It kept him.
The whore made a disgusted noise, released her grip on his waistcoat, and turned away from him to screech into the parlor. “Mrs. Lacey! I got’s a jumpy one here fer ye.” She gave Julian one last offended look, stuck her nose in the air, and flounced away.
Well. Maybe she was a duchess, after all.
A female shape detached itself from a knot of people in the parlor and materialized out of the gloom. A woman, tall, with generous white breasts spilling from the top of a tight bodice sank into a low curtsey in front of him. It was the kind of curtsey that invited a gentleman to ogle her bosom, and Julian obliged.
“Good evening, sir. I’m Mrs. Lacey.”
Red. Her hair, her lips, her scarlet-colored gown—everything about her was red except her eyes, which were a watery green. She was attractive in that hard, painted way the better-looking prostitutes were attractive.
She assessed him with a practiced eye and then held out her hand, a small smile on her full lips. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you? What’s your name, luv?”
“Does it matter?” She might recognize his name. He’d been mentioned in the papers more than once since his regiment returned to England.
She chuckled. “Not in the least. You may call me Evie. What shall I call you?”
He shrugged. “Call me whatever you want.”
She gave him a curious look. “I don’t want anything, luv. Gentlemen come to me to get what they want. So. What doyouwant?”
One marchioness.Was it possible she’d already come and gone and he’d missed her? “I’m looking for a woman.”
The red lips curled upward. “Are you now? Imagine that.”
“No, that is, not a woman, but—”
“Sorry, luv.” Mrs. Lacey shook her head. “This isn’t that kind of house. Try Fleet Street.”
For God’s sake. He was going to strangle Cam. “A lady, Mrs. Lacey. I’m looking for alady.”
“A lady?” Her brow furrowed as if she couldn’t imagine why he’d want such a troublesome thing. “This isn’t Almack’s, luv. The gentlemen here don’t have much use for ladies. They come for a tumble, not a quadrille. So, do you want a tumble or not?”
The knot in Julian’s lower belly tightened and hope creaked to life inside him. Mrs. Lacey looked as if she knew a great deal about fleshly desires. He’d promised Cam, but there was no sign of Lady Hadley yet, and well, thiswasa brothel.
“Such a fine, strapping young buck you are.” Mrs. Lacey’s green gaze lingered for a moment on his shoulders and chest, then moved lower, and lower still. “It’s not healthy, luv, for such a vigorous gentleman to deny his urges.”
Urges. Yes.He did have those. “No, not at all healthy.”
Mrs. Lacey’s eyes gleamed in the muted light. “That’s right. Now come with me, luv, and we’ll find you just the right lady to satisfy those urges. What do you fancy?”
Anything in skirts.“Blond with blue eyes.” It was as good a choice as any.
“Ah. That’s easily done.” Mrs. Lacey glanced around the room, then crooked a finger at a young woman who stood by the fireplace, chatting up a scrawny lad with a lopsided cravat. “Mary. Come here, my dear girl.”
Mary abandoned her young man without a backward glance and hurried across the room to Mrs. Lacey’s side. “Yes, mum?”
Mrs. Lacey urged the girl forward into better light so Julian could get a look at her. “This gentleman would like a companion for the evening. Do you suppose you could entertain him?”
Mary’s eyes went wide when she got a close look at Julian. “Oh yes, indeed, mum.” She gave Mrs. Lacey a sidelong glance that made the older woman chuckle, and added, “Thank you, mum.”
Julian studied the girl. She was young, but not too young, with fair-skin, light yellow hair, and dainty lips, faintly pink. Everything about her was pale and indistinct, like the sun hidden under layers of haze and London smog, pretty in its way, with a wan kind of beauty.
She wasn’t perfect, but she was here, and that was good enough for him. He nodded once at Mrs. Lacey. “She’ll do.”
Mrs. Lacey smiled. “Then I wish you an enjoyable evening.”
