Read Online 0062412949 (R) by Charis Michaels - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charis Michaels
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the cramped, uneven space with her arms full of fabric and the extra broom. When they reached the other side, Joseph could be seen standing, bewildered and empty-handed, in the previous room.
“Thank you so much, Joseph,” Piety called back at the boy. “We shouldn’t bother you again until late in the day. When the house is, shall we say, quiet , we will have you slip us out again, all right? If I require anything at all, I shall send Marissa.”
Jocelyn heard him croak something just as Piety whipped the door shut tight.
“Well,” Piety said, dusting off. “That was an unpleasant bit of dishonesty, but I dare say it was worth it. Now, let us do our best to pull the shutters off of these windows and open them up to the world. Let us get a look at this place!”
CHAPTER SIX
T revor needed a woman.
Not a beautiful woman. Or a docile woman. Or even a young woman—although, he was willing to pay more for healthy, limber, and happy in her work.
Cleverness? Also not a concern. Indeed, it was better that she not be particularly bright. His new neighbor was clever. Quick. Diverting. And look where that got him: riding off to spend money that he did not have for the affections of a woman he did not know. It was a sordid business in which he rarely engaged and was loath to participate even now. And why? Well, the only reason he could fathom was that it had been far too long since he’d known the body-calming and brain-settling clarity of release. He needed a woman.
He’d been in England for what? Three weeks. He knew few people in London—none of them women—and he wished to know even fewer. In Greece, there had been women. Women of a certain age, a certain attitude, a certain situation.
But even with the Grecian women, it had been a while. Things had been complicated—his mother’s death, the earldom, and the inheritance. By the time he’d reconciled himself to losing a mother and gaining a title, he’d sailed for England.
Where he knew no women.
Until Miss Piety Grey had popped through his wall. Smelling good, looking even better, and provoking him.
And the last thing Trevor needed was to be provoked.
After passing a disturbingly sleepless night thrashing around in his bed, he reasoned that he could either spend the rest of the day agonizing about the loveliness of Miss Grey, the proximity of Miss Grey, or the unconventional familiarity and boundary-averse nature of Miss Grey.
Or he could locate an available courtesan and rut himself into clear-headed, focused, satisfaction.
“Trevor, thank God,” called a panting voice behind him, breaking his revelry, “I’ve been searching for you for an hour.”
“Go away, Joseph,” Trevor said, clipping up the steps of Madame Joie’s discreet bordello on the edge of St. James.
“Can’t. I’ve done something awful.”
Trevor stopped short of knocking on Madame Joie’s door and turned to the boy, trying to decipher the guilt that hung heavily on his face. “What awful thing?”
Joseph fidgeted, saying nothing.
Trevor tried again. “Is the house on fire?”
“No.”
“Did you use my name or credit to purchase something of which, or hire someone of whom, I will not approve? And by this I mean did you purchase anything or hire anyone at all?”
“No, Trev, it’s nothing like that.”
“My God, Joseph.” He groaned as he descended the steps, but he motioned the boy into the alley. “You look like you’ve swallowed a goat. What is it?”
“It’s Miss Grey.”
Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “What about Miss Grey?”
“She’s back.”
“Back where ?”
“She . . . She came to the garden door,” he began.
“Tell me that you did not admit her.”
“She was so strong.”
“She is a young woman, Joseph. A female. And you are nearly as large as I am.”
“Not strong in body, strong in words,” insisted the boy.
“Of course.” Trevor sighed deeply. “What did she do with her strong words? Talk you into doing this awful thing,
“Thank you so much, Joseph,” Piety called back at the boy. “We shouldn’t bother you again until late in the day. When the house is, shall we say, quiet , we will have you slip us out again, all right? If I require anything at all, I shall send Marissa.”
Jocelyn heard him croak something just as Piety whipped the door shut tight.
“Well,” Piety said, dusting off. “That was an unpleasant bit of dishonesty, but I dare say it was worth it. Now, let us do our best to pull the shutters off of these windows and open them up to the world. Let us get a look at this place!”
CHAPTER SIX
T revor needed a woman.
Not a beautiful woman. Or a docile woman. Or even a young woman—although, he was willing to pay more for healthy, limber, and happy in her work.
Cleverness? Also not a concern. Indeed, it was better that she not be particularly bright. His new neighbor was clever. Quick. Diverting. And look where that got him: riding off to spend money that he did not have for the affections of a woman he did not know. It was a sordid business in which he rarely engaged and was loath to participate even now. And why? Well, the only reason he could fathom was that it had been far too long since he’d known the body-calming and brain-settling clarity of release. He needed a woman.
He’d been in England for what? Three weeks. He knew few people in London—none of them women—and he wished to know even fewer. In Greece, there had been women. Women of a certain age, a certain attitude, a certain situation.
But even with the Grecian women, it had been a while. Things had been complicated—his mother’s death, the earldom, and the inheritance. By the time he’d reconciled himself to losing a mother and gaining a title, he’d sailed for England.
Where he knew no women.
Until Miss Piety Grey had popped through his wall. Smelling good, looking even better, and provoking him.
And the last thing Trevor needed was to be provoked.
After passing a disturbingly sleepless night thrashing around in his bed, he reasoned that he could either spend the rest of the day agonizing about the loveliness of Miss Grey, the proximity of Miss Grey, or the unconventional familiarity and boundary-averse nature of Miss Grey.
Or he could locate an available courtesan and rut himself into clear-headed, focused, satisfaction.
“Trevor, thank God,” called a panting voice behind him, breaking his revelry, “I’ve been searching for you for an hour.”
“Go away, Joseph,” Trevor said, clipping up the steps of Madame Joie’s discreet bordello on the edge of St. James.
“Can’t. I’ve done something awful.”
Trevor stopped short of knocking on Madame Joie’s door and turned to the boy, trying to decipher the guilt that hung heavily on his face. “What awful thing?”
Joseph fidgeted, saying nothing.
Trevor tried again. “Is the house on fire?”
“No.”
“Did you use my name or credit to purchase something of which, or hire someone of whom, I will not approve? And by this I mean did you purchase anything or hire anyone at all?”
“No, Trev, it’s nothing like that.”
“My God, Joseph.” He groaned as he descended the steps, but he motioned the boy into the alley. “You look like you’ve swallowed a goat. What is it?”
“It’s Miss Grey.”
Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “What about Miss Grey?”
“She’s back.”
“Back where ?”
“She . . . She came to the garden door,” he began.
“Tell me that you did not admit her.”
“She was so strong.”
“She is a young woman, Joseph. A female. And you are nearly as large as I am.”
“Not strong in body, strong in words,” insisted the boy.
“Of course.” Trevor sighed deeply. “What did she do with her strong words? Talk you into doing this awful thing,
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