Read Online One Night of Sin by Gaelen Foley - Free Book Online
Authors: Gaelen Foley
Tags: Fiction
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Very well, he conceded.
I’ll thank the chap first, and then beat him senseless.
They hurried on, hand in hand.
There was enchantment in the night, in the thunder that rang with their laughter as they dashed through the rain, in the silvery miniature cascades that rolled down their bodies and slicked their skin, in the diamond droplets that adorned their hair and eyelashes and made their lips and faces gleam. They splashed their way through deep puddles, leaving bubbles in their wake.
“Are you holding up all right?” he asked her over the loud ceaseless hiss of the rain slapping the pavement.
She nodded.
Alec frowned, concerned about the effects of the inclement weather on the girl’s health, but it would have taken longer to reach the hackney stand, so they went on foot; it was only a few blocks down Piccadilly to his bachelor rooms at the exclusive Althorpe.
The original Baroque mansion, Althorpe House, had long since been divided into a few bachelor apartments. Behind it, situated around the green pleasant space of the lamplit courtyard, were several long, neat row houses built as luxurious private apartments with all the modern conveniences, eight to a building, four on each floor. Alec, naturally, owned one of the most desirable apartments with the best view.
When Becky and he arrived, the liveried porter at the property gates trudged out of his booth and went to unlock the way for them.
Waiting for him to do so, Alec glanced at Becky in persistent solicitude. She stood shivering beside him, wrapped in his oversize tailcoat like a good little soldier. Not a word of complaint. This girl was tough, he thought admiringly, but he could not stop worrying about her like a blasted mother hen. She was so pale in the darkness.
With that night-dark hair and eyes like amethysts, she possessed a haunting beauty, but her pallor troubled him. He noted the shadows under her eyes, the hollows beneath her elegant cheekbones. She looked very tired, and young, and fragile; and Alec found himself besieged by the most baffling need to take care of her. No, he would not lay a finger on her until he was sure she was all right.
When the porter hauled the creaking gates open to admit them, he gathered her closer with a protective arm around her shoulders. “This way, sweet,” he murmured, escorting her into the courtyard. “We’re almost home.”
Home.
The word pained her, but she hurried to keep up with Alec’s long, brisk strides as he led her to a handsome brick building marked
F.
“My rooms are back this way.”
They tracked wet footprints through the marble-tiled foyer as he led her through it and up the five stairs to a gracious mezzanine level. Here they left the staircase, going down a corridor that led toward the back of the building.
Becky followed with a sense of wonder and taboo, taking in all the strange sounds of rowdy male life going on behind the closed, numbered doors. Bass and tenor voices argued about racehorses and prizefights. Baritone laughter. She smelled smoke from pipes and cheroots.
“I hear music,” she murmured.
“That is the Honorable Roger Manners,” Alec explained in a confidential but humorous tone, glancing at the ceiling. “Practices the pianoforte for two hours every night. Annoys the blazes out of the other chaps, but I am a great lover of music.”
“That is fortunate.”
“Fortunate, indeed, since his chambers are right above mine. If he had taken up the trumpet, I fear I should not be half so accommodating.” He reached into his waistcoat and fished out the key to his rooms. Becky held her breath, her heart pounding as he turned the lock. It clicked back with a low
snick.
Alec glanced at her in question, reading her eyes, as though trying to assess if she was quite sure about this, but in the moment’s somber silence, a sudden, hungry growl from her belly startled them both. Becky clapped her hands to her middle, her eyes widening.
“God’s teeth, was that your
I’ll thank the chap first, and then beat him senseless.
They hurried on, hand in hand.
There was enchantment in the night, in the thunder that rang with their laughter as they dashed through the rain, in the silvery miniature cascades that rolled down their bodies and slicked their skin, in the diamond droplets that adorned their hair and eyelashes and made their lips and faces gleam. They splashed their way through deep puddles, leaving bubbles in their wake.
“Are you holding up all right?” he asked her over the loud ceaseless hiss of the rain slapping the pavement.
She nodded.
Alec frowned, concerned about the effects of the inclement weather on the girl’s health, but it would have taken longer to reach the hackney stand, so they went on foot; it was only a few blocks down Piccadilly to his bachelor rooms at the exclusive Althorpe.
The original Baroque mansion, Althorpe House, had long since been divided into a few bachelor apartments. Behind it, situated around the green pleasant space of the lamplit courtyard, were several long, neat row houses built as luxurious private apartments with all the modern conveniences, eight to a building, four on each floor. Alec, naturally, owned one of the most desirable apartments with the best view.
When Becky and he arrived, the liveried porter at the property gates trudged out of his booth and went to unlock the way for them.
Waiting for him to do so, Alec glanced at Becky in persistent solicitude. She stood shivering beside him, wrapped in his oversize tailcoat like a good little soldier. Not a word of complaint. This girl was tough, he thought admiringly, but he could not stop worrying about her like a blasted mother hen. She was so pale in the darkness.
With that night-dark hair and eyes like amethysts, she possessed a haunting beauty, but her pallor troubled him. He noted the shadows under her eyes, the hollows beneath her elegant cheekbones. She looked very tired, and young, and fragile; and Alec found himself besieged by the most baffling need to take care of her. No, he would not lay a finger on her until he was sure she was all right.
When the porter hauled the creaking gates open to admit them, he gathered her closer with a protective arm around her shoulders. “This way, sweet,” he murmured, escorting her into the courtyard. “We’re almost home.”
Home.
The word pained her, but she hurried to keep up with Alec’s long, brisk strides as he led her to a handsome brick building marked
F.
“My rooms are back this way.”
They tracked wet footprints through the marble-tiled foyer as he led her through it and up the five stairs to a gracious mezzanine level. Here they left the staircase, going down a corridor that led toward the back of the building.
Becky followed with a sense of wonder and taboo, taking in all the strange sounds of rowdy male life going on behind the closed, numbered doors. Bass and tenor voices argued about racehorses and prizefights. Baritone laughter. She smelled smoke from pipes and cheroots.
“I hear music,” she murmured.
“That is the Honorable Roger Manners,” Alec explained in a confidential but humorous tone, glancing at the ceiling. “Practices the pianoforte for two hours every night. Annoys the blazes out of the other chaps, but I am a great lover of music.”
“That is fortunate.”
“Fortunate, indeed, since his chambers are right above mine. If he had taken up the trumpet, I fear I should not be half so accommodating.” He reached into his waistcoat and fished out the key to his rooms. Becky held her breath, her heart pounding as he turned the lock. It clicked back with a low
snick.
Alec glanced at her in question, reading her eyes, as though trying to assess if she was quite sure about this, but in the moment’s somber silence, a sudden, hungry growl from her belly startled them both. Becky clapped her hands to her middle, her eyes widening.
“God’s teeth, was that your
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