Page 41 of Only Pleasure Will Do

Chapter 18

Caution made Amorina instruct the coachman to stop Lord Dalbury’s very noticeable black lacquered carriage several streets over from the House of Pleasure. It would hardly do for such an equipage to pull up in front of the brothel. Might as well announce their intentions through the town crier. She waited until there was a lull in the foot traffic then scrambled out of the vehicle and waved her thanks to the coachman. He moved off, and she darted between two tall clapboard buildings, winding toward the rear entrance of her establishment.

In the waning light, the color of her dress made her blend into the surroundings, hopefully concealing her movements and destination from anyone who might’ve been paid to watch the house. Or her. Sidestepping a pile of horse droppings, she hurried down Prichard’s Lane then cut through Mrs. Willoughby’s vegetable garden, the small plants just beginning to show through the dirt. She followed the lane that ran alongside her house then stopped behind the privy and waited while a drunken man pissed against the back steps of the house.

Once he staggered away, she crept up to the porch, the gloomy half-darkness of twilight now cloaking her in earnest. She went not to the back door but to the faded doors of the root cellar just to the side. The hatchway had been specifically constructed to include a concealed doorway leading into the basement for just such occasions as this. It also functioned as an escape route, should she or the girls find it necessary to leave the house quickly and unnoticed. Gingerly, she felt for the latch on the side of the hatchway, located it, and pulled. The secret door slid open silently. Glancing around to make sure she was not observed, Amorina slipped inside then swiftly shut the door behind her with a click.

The jet-black passageway gave onto the coal cellar, where she quickly found her way to the staircase leading up to the kitchen. If her timing was right, the kitchen would be deserted by now. She crept up the steps, pressed her ear against the door, and strained to hear anything to indicate a presence in the kitchen. After several moments of silence, she eased the door open and stuck her head out.

Just as she’d predicted, the kitchen was empty. Nancy, the cook and general maid for the house, usually made herself scarce between the hours of six p.m. and six a.m. to avoid the customers’ unwanted attentions. Amorina slipped into the room, cold now that the fire was out, and made her way by feel to the back staircase that gave access to the upper floors during the day.

Step by cautious step, she eased up to the second floor, listening attentively for sounds of the house about to come to life. The creak of the floor directly above her—Jenny always paced as she prepared her evening toilette. A rhymical squeaking from Racine’s room where she enjoyed the attentions of her latest amour. A burst of rowdy laughter from the first floor told her that her other ladies had gathered for an evening drink. Not a practice Amorina encouraged, although she didn’t forbid it either. As long as the women remained sober enough to attend to their customers and obey the house rules—rules meant to ensure their safety as well as the financial stability of the House of Pleasure—she had no objection if they wished to indulge a bit before working hours.

Amorina reached the second floor and hurried across the narrow corridor to her room. She fished the key from atop the doorframe, unlocked the door, and sped inside. Much as she hated to risk lighting a candle, she had to be able to see in order to take care of her personal needs. Hopefully, any light would be attributed to the sconces along the corridor.

The first order of business was her chamber pot. Before she left in the morning, she’d empty the contents into one of the customer chambers. After attending to that business, a thorough wash was in order, something she’d not been able to do for over two weeks. She grabbed her wash basin and nipped into the chamber next to hers, as yet unoccupied for the night, and poured the water from that basin into hers. It would be a cool bath, but a blessed relief nonetheless.

Washing by candlelight, she allowed her mind to drift back to that morning, lying in Reginald’s arms. As she soaped her breasts, she imagined his hands on her body, caressing her, enjoying the feel of her body. She slid the soapy cloth lower, closing her eyes, envisioning how he would touch her, would claim her again and again. Her body shuddered a release, powerful yet poorer because he was not with her. Sighing, she rinsed the cloth then wiped away the soap and dried herself vigorously with her towel before donning a fresh chemise. The one she’d discarded should probably be burned.

Her hair needed attention as well, in more ways than one. She’d not been able to brush it properly for weeks, so that was the first order of business. Dipping her horsehair brush into her pot of jasmine-scented pomatum, she flicked away the excess then pulled the stiff bristles through her hair, working the rich oil into her scalp first then down through all the length of her hair. Tangles were dealt with without mercy, sometimes her hard pulling bringing tears to her eyes. At last, every strand had been smoothed and she dusted her whole head with bone powder to absorb some of the oil. Then another thorough brushing, with frequent wiping of the bristles to get rid of the accumulated dirt and oil.

Once her hair shone glossy in the candlelight, Amorina pulled a secret latch in the table’s top and a little door popped open. She withdrew a small pot filled with a dark, rather pungent brew of ground black walnut shells and boiled water. A part of her clandestine life she’d told no one about until today. She drew the candle closer and adjusted the mirror on her toilette table. Taking the small artist’s brush she kept particularly for this purpose in hand, she then dipped the soft bristles into the brown dye and proceeded to paint it onto the exposed roots of her hair, now a startling blond stripe running the length of her head. No wonder Reginald had mentioned it. She looked peculiar, to say the least. She’d been due to color her hair before she’d left to visit Pearl but had decided to put it off until her return. Now she was more than a month overdue for the treatment, and it showed. The application finished, Amorina sat back to wait for the color to set then she’d wipe the excess off and finally be able to sink into her bed and let sleep take her.

A clattering of boots on the front stairs brought Amorina out of her reverie with a jolt. An early customer? Not unheard of. She bit her lip. There was a chance, of course, it wasn’t a client but one of Redmond’s thugs come in search of her. In her current situation, she’d rather be safe than sorry. She quickly thrust the pot of dye back in its hiding place, along with the short-handled brush, and closed the door. Sweeping all her products back into their accustomed places, she continued to listen as the steps neared her end of the corridor.

Damn. Was someone coming to her room? Panic washed over her, freezing her where she sat. No one must know she’d ever been here. She doused the candle in the basin of soapy water to prevent a smell of smoke. She glanced at the armoire. Did she dare chance donning a clean gown?

The footsteps had gotten louder. Whoever it was had turned down this corridor.

Much as she hated it, she swiftly donned her stained and rumpled traveling gown. Not only was there no time to change, but there was nowhere to easily hide the bulky garment and she couldn’t risk anyone finding it and sounding an alarm. The dirty chemise she shoved into the bottom of her chest of drawers, pushing it to the back and under a stack of laundered handkerchiefs. They might have to be disposed of as well.

The footsteps slowed as they reached her door, and Amorina held her breath.

They stopped in front of her door then the latch rattled loudly in the silence.

* * * *

“I tell you again, Sir Reginald, I’ve not seen Madam Vestry for over a month now.” Dressed in a stylish, if a little risqué, red gown, the light-skirt who said her name was Daphne actually sounded sincere.

Did he want to believe her because he now knew she was likely a woman of the upper classes? That revelation continued to amaze him. If he’d frequented Society ballrooms in the past few years, would he have actually met some of these women who were now part of Amorina Vestry’s elite ladies? “Have any of you ladies seen her here today?”

“No, sir.”

The unanimous chorus served to get him no further in his quest. If he wanted to save her, he must find her before anyone else did. The ride from Dunham House to the House of Pleasure had cleared his head. Although he could never condone what she’d done, he understood too well the consequences Maddy believed she faced if she did not carry out Redmond’s demands. When he caught up to that villain, he’d show not so much as a drop of mercy, even if it cost him his life.

But Maddy had been forced to make a choice of victim to sacrifice. He could scarcely blame her for choosing to save her own child, even at the expense of his cousin’s life. So when he found Maddy, he would do everything within his power to help her and Pearl flee England. They could make a new start in France, perhaps, or Belgium. Somewhere the English law could not touch them. Somewhere he would know they were safe, and safely out of reach of both him and the authorities.

“Can one of you ladies show me to Madam Vestry’s room, please?”

“I’ll gladly show you to my room, Sir Reginald.” A tall, dark-haired woman licked her lips, which were a shocking shade of red.

A sudden vision of his amorous tryst with Maddy this morning, her mouth wrapped around his cock, made him hard in an instant. Barely able to stifle a groan, he jerked his attention back to Daphne. “Take me to her room.” The words came out terse and authoritative. “Now.”

All the seductive pretense wiped itself from the woman’s face. “Yes, sir.”

They started up the front stairs when the entry door opened and a gentleman called, “Damn it, Daphne. Where’re you going? I told Jenny six o’clock.”

His escort turned a worried gaze on him, and he shook his head. “Tend to your customer, Daphne. But first tell me where Madam Vestry’s room is.”