Page 15 of Only Pleasure Will Do

Chapter 6

Amorina’s throat constricted so suddenly and tightly she couldn’t breathe. Gripping the edge of the bed, she stared at Sir Reginald with an intensity that made her vision waver. Sir Peter was dead?

“Are you all right, Madam Vestry?” Sir Reginald seized her hand and patted it vigorously. “Do you feel lightheaded? Let me fetch you some water.”

Slowly, she shook her head. The roaring that had filled her ears once more had subsided and she drew a deep, shaky breath. “He is truly dead?”

“Yes, more than a week ago. A duel with the Earl of Manning.” He cocked his head. “Are you acquainted with the gentleman?”

Her aplomb returning, she smiled at the insinuation in his voice. “Yes, I am, although not as well as you might think. I know of him because he is the brother of the Marchioness of Dalbury. We met briefly, at her home, late last year and then he came into the House of Pleasure with friends once during this past Christmas.” A very handsome gentleman, with a dangerous glint in his eye. She could well imagine Lord Manning dispatching Sir Peter with little fuss. “When I return to London, I must express my heartfelt gratitude to him.” She caught sight of Matthews’s raised eyebrow. “A letter of gratitude, Sir Reginald, nothing more.”

“Of course, Madam Vestry.” A smile flitted over his generous lips. “For a moment, I feared you might have, after all, been dismayed at Sir Peter’s demise.”

“Hardly.” Had she been able to accost the man herself, she might’ve done for him years ago. “I’ve never had any feelings for Sir Peter save deep loathing and hatred. My stunned reaction was due completely to my relief that he will no longer pose a threat to me or to Pearl.” It had always been her fear that Sir Peter would seek out her child and attempt to use her as leverage for some further nefarious scheme. That now was impossible. If she was able to escape Tommy Redmond’s clutches, she might just be able to start her life anew. With Pearl. “You have made me extraordinarily happy, Sir Reginald.” She smiled as wicked thoughts of how she would like to thank the magistrate danced through her mind. Taking his hand, she kissed it slowly, enjoying the strength he exuded, the masculine smell of his skin warming her senses. “I must show you my gratitude as well.”

His eyes widened, a sort of panicked look deep within their smoky depths. Still, he withdrew his hand slowly from hers. That was hopeful.

“I assure you, Madam Vestry, you need give me no thanks past that. I did nothing save bring you the news.” He eased a little away from her. “Well, that and act as Lord Manning’s second in the duel. But I assure you, his lordship was the one who dispatched Sir Peter, despite the man’s treachery.”

“Treachery?” Not that she was surprised. “What did he do?”

“Shot before the handkerchief dropped.” Sir Reginald’s mouth puckered, as if he’d eaten a half-ripe persimmon. “Creased Lord Manning’s skull, but he’s mended fine, so I hear. His lordship managed to keep to his feet and put a ball in Finch’s heart.”

Welcome news indeed. Relief washed over her, making her weak. She was free at last. Free to sell the House of Pleasure, take that money and her savings to build a new life with Pearl. The life she’d dreamed of the past six years. Tears pricked her eyes, and she wiped them away. Matthews might still think she was upset by Sir Peter’s death and that would not do. She glanced up at him to find him peering down at her, an almost tender look on his face. Her heart stuttered, and a frisson of heat formed deep within her.

She’d been attracted to this man ever since that morning last year when he’d visited her with Lord Dalbury’s cloak. He’d probably never given it a second thought, but she had. She’d given that meeting and Sir Reginald a great deal of thought over the past year, hoping against hope he’d visit the House of Pleasure. He’d have been one of the rare clients she serviced herself, in hopes of making an impression on him, making him desire her enough to want to return again and again. But she hadn’t seen him. Until now. Perhaps, despite their surroundings, she could arouse him. Give him her best stock in trade: pleasure. Just once, though it would not be nearly enough for her, she suspected.

Hesitantly, she stole her hand out and slipped it onto his arm. “I am truly grateful, Sir Reginald. Both for Lord Manning’s bravery and for your assistance in dispensing with the man who tormented me for so many years.” She squeezed his arm and movement in his lap caught her attention. So far so good. “For that and for agreeing to my girls’ request to find me, will you allow me to repay your kindness?” She leaned toward him and licked her lips. “Please?”

* * * *

Reginald forced himself to remain still, although his cock informed him of the idiocy of that notion. The temptation to take Madam Vestry up on her offer was becoming stronger by the moment. He’d thought of her from time to time ever since that encounter a year ago. The urge to seek out this alluring woman had resurfaced time and again during the ensuing months, but he’d resisted those urges then, and by God, he’d resist them now.

Not that it was a question of attraction. His hardening member was a testament to his interest in her. He simply didn’t want to take advantage of the situation they found themselves in. Or take advantage of her. Pulling in a ragged breath, he stifled a groan. “I think I should try the door once more.”

Her brows swooped upward. She’d probably never been refused when making an offer of this nature. Despite her haggard appearance, she was still a beautiful woman only a fool would refuse. He peered into her wide eyes, the color of chestnuts when they first fell from the trees, set his jaw, and struggled to stand. She remained on the bed, looking up at him, neither pouting nor glowering at not having gotten her way, but simply disappointed at having been refused.

Oh, he was definitely a fool.

Determinedly, he stalked into the other room and up the stairs. His reluctance to bed any woman who’d had no choice in the matter of her profession had been the primary reason he’d never returned to the House of Pleasure. Every woman in the establishment, he’d wager, had ended up there because they had no place else to go. Whore or starve made the choice an easy one for those who prized life over morals. His own experiences had been with willing lasses when he’d been younger and with equally willing widows in recent years. He’d never lain with a prostitute and wasn’t about to begin now, no matter how aroused he might be.

Shaking off his unease, he bent to examine the lock once more. Thank God it wasn’t a simple bar across the door but had a proper keyhole. Something he could pick if he could find the right tool. He reached into his boot top and withdrew a slim knife he carried at all times. Not the ideal instrument for picking a lock, but he could try now it was light. Crouching in front of the door, Reginald inserted the tip of the knife into the small keyhole, closed his eyes, and focused on the lock, visualizing the lever and the bolt. Ideally, he should’ve had a second knife or piece of metal, but perhaps he could make it work with just one implement. He pressed the blade upward, feeling for the lever mechanism and was rewarded with a slight movement. Good. Now came the tricky part. He had to continue putting pressure on the lever as he attempted to slide the bolt backward with the knife’s thin edge. An almost impossible maneuver, but he’d managed to do it once before, early on in his career as a Runner. Holding his breath, he slowly, slowly twisted the blade, but it slid off the lever. Damn.

“Do you have any kind of metal pin, Madam Vestry?” he called over his shoulder. He inserted he knife once more, though hope was waning. “A broach or hatpin would do.”

“Nothing of the kind, I’m afraid, Sir Reginald.”

He jumped at the closeness of her voice. For some reason, he’d expected her to have remained in the other room. A glance over his shoulder revealed she’d followed him to the bottom of the staircase, and now stood looking up at him.

The dirt-streaked chemise she wore as a night rail did nothing to hide her charms. The woman must know exactly where to stand so the flimsy material would reveal everything—full breasts, rounded hips, shapely thighs—as though she stood naked before him. He swallowed painfully, his suddenly dry throat rasping against itself, as his cock surged up eagerly, seeking escape from his breeches. A thin sweat popped out on his brow as he turned back to the door. How was he to concentrate on this blasted lock with such a display seared into his eyeballs?

“The only thing they left me with were my clothes and the wooden spoon to eat with. I assume that would be too large.”

“Yes.” The word came out more curtly than he’d intended, but the mere sound of her voice, low pitched and throaty, incited a riot in his already aroused flesh.

“Can I help you in any way?”

“No.” Stifling a groan, he tried to concentrate on the lock, but the knife slipped out of his sweaty fingers, clattering to the wooden floor. He snatched it up and stood, wincing as his cock brushed the rough material of his pants. Stiffly, he turned to go down the steps and was met with the frank stare and smiling lips of Madam Vestry.