Read Online In the Flesh by Portia Da Costa - Free Book Online Page A

on his face while he’d touched her.
    Polly snatched up the tiny silver correspondence tray from the chair beside the bed and presented it as a moment-by-moment memory of all that had occurred last night washed like a waterfall into Beatrice’s mind.
    Ritchie’s face. His smile. His hands.
    His deep blue eyes, burning like dark coals. The devil!
    But even though Edmund Ellsworth Ritchie was only a gentleman of sorts, she couldn’t imagine him being content to wait in the kitchen for her answer to his own letter. Especially not with Cook blathering on at Enid, and the smoky range, and dish cloths and tea cloths all hung up to dry, and the general state of disorder that pervaded a house with not enough servants.
    Beatrice grabbed the letter. She had absolutely no shred of doubt it was from him. He was just the type to demand an instant reply. The arrogance of him, all hurry, hurry, hurry, dance to his tune. He wanted to buy her body, on terms to suit him alone, and he wanted the agreement signed, sealed and delivered before she’d had time to entertain first thoughts, never mind second ones. It was a wonder he hadn’t sent a solicitor to notarize the agreement. Maybe one of these men was a lawyer? It wouldn’t surprise her.
    Yet now that she had the momentous missive in her hand, she hardly dared crack open its seal, despite the fact that Polly was nearly dancing with curiosity beside the bed. To read the proposal was to make it real. Last night, at the glittering ball, she’d consorted with Ritchie, but now all that seemed like a voluptuous magic-lantern show, as phantasmagorical as the erotic dream from which she’d woken.
    This letter represented the cold, sordid fact that she was selling her own flesh to get out of debt. She was an “unfortunate” who was fortunate enough to be desired by a man as rich as Croesus. And the fact that he still excited her was the most disturbing thing of all.
    “These men, Poll…how long have they been here? I assume they’re servants, not gentlemen? And if they are gentlemen, what were you thinking not showing them into the parlor?”
    “They arrived about five minutes ago, Miss Beatrice. Knocking on the kitchen door… Gave Cook a bit of a start, and before I could stop her, Enid had opened to them. I was going to run round next door for Fred, but it didn’t seem worth it. Either one of them would make ten of him.” Mangling her apron in her hand, Polly seemed to be struck by the same mix of excitement and anxiety that gripped Beatrice. “The fair-haired one said he wouldn’t leave until he had a reply, from your own hand!”
    Fair haired? Domineering and bombastic? As the master, so the man…or perhaps one and the same?
    But then again, Ritchie wasn’t exactly bombastic. More clever than that, he was a subtle, persuasive libertine, and he’d swept her into scandalous and sensual behavior by dint of making her believe that was what she wanted.
    Making her accept, nay, admit that it was what she wanted.
    Beatrice set the envelope down on the counterpane and tried to concentrate. What exactly had she said last night?
    What did I lead him to expect? Why can’t I remember the precise words?
    But it was actions she remembered clearly…and reactions. All else was a delicious, slightly alarming haze. Surely she’d not partaken of all that much champagne? Even the glass of brandy she’d so boldly dashed down had been modest.
    It wasn’t the alcohol. If she’d become inebriated, surely she wouldn’t have been able to recall the physical details. His touch. What she’d done, and had done to her. It all still lingered in her memory, every second perfect and crystal clear.
    “This man, the blond one. Did he say who sent him? Does he look as if he’s in service with a gentleman?”
    Polly’s eyes narrowed and her full mouth took on a sultry expression. Beatrice didn’t need telling that the mysterious message carrier and his associate had made an impression, and stirred