“Tell me, what is it?”
“Nothing,” he lied. “Merely an aching head.”
“Hmm, and the medicine I smell?”
“For the pain.”
For one brief moment he pretended. Pretended she cared. But the moment was gone as quickly as it had come, a dream that faded into darkness. No one would ever care for him, a whore.
“What is it?” she demanded. Before he could respond, she tore his covers away. He started to reach for them, but it was too late. “Oh Alex.” The way she said his name…he wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or thrilled. He didn’t want her to care, he couldn’t depend on her emotions. Yet he’d gone so many years without someone caring, that like a starved mongrel, he hungered for her.
“It’s nothing.” Slowly, he rolled to his side, his back to her.
“What happened? Was it after I left you on that street? Were you attacked?” She pulled the blanket down further, revealing his bare backside. Realizing he was naked, she paused. He could imagine her face flushing and smiled over it.
“Yes,” he said. “Attacked.”
“Nonsense, you’re lying.”
He rolled to his back, even though the movement sent more pain through his body, and glared up at her. “How do you bloody know?” He grabbed the blanket and jerked it back up to his chest.
“Because,” she said, lifting an impertinent brow. “They didn’t hit your face.”
She rested her hand on the side of his cheek, her heat seeping through his skin. He closed his eyes. Damn woman was too smart for her own good.
“She did this to you? Lady Lavender?”
“No, not her.” Which was true enough. Her hands had never touched him.
“But she ordered it done.”
“Yes,” he snapped, growing more annoyed with each passing moment. He hated Ophelia for blackmailing him, he hated her for keeping him in no more than a gilded prison, but at the moment, what he hated the most was the fact that now Grace realized just how little control he had over his life. He was pathetic. Weak.
“Is that what you want to hear?” He dared to sit up, his ribs pulling, aching with the movement. With his back to her, he settled his bare feet on the carpet. “She has henchmen. Big, burly men too damn ugly to be whores. Men she uses as guards and when we disobey…”
“Oh God, Alex,” her voice was tight, high. “I’m so sorry.”
He laughed a wry chuckle. “What do you expect, we’re a brothel. You think because we’re men it’s any different?”
She didn’t respond, which meant yes, she had thought it different. It wasn’t her fault. The building was clean, the furnishings rich; who would ever guess that such evilness resided here?
Part of him felt like an arse for being so blunt, yet he couldn’t seem to stop the truth from pouring from his lips. “We might dress better. Our rooms may look better, but that’s merely to represent a façade for the women who come here. We’re still whores and we’re still treated no better than animals.”
“You have to leave Alex. You must at least try to escape.”
The fire crackling in the hearth was the only sound. He didn’t dare move, barely breathed for fear she would say something more, for fear she would realize the truth. He was going to leave. He’d decided the moment Wavers’ fist had connected with his gut. He would take this no longer, but if he told Grace, she would want to be involved and he would not endanger her anymore than he had already.
“It was because of me, wasn’t it?”
“Of course not,” he whispered.
“Because you left the gaming hell with me? I saw that man, watching on the corner. Was he the one who beat you?”
He closed his eyes, pressing his lips tightly together. He would say no more. Already he’d said too much. If Ophelia would do this to him, what would she do to an outsider like Grace? It was best she know as little as possible.
But Grace stood and moved around the bed. “Why Alex. Why are you here?” She stopped only feet from him and wrapped her arm around the bedpost. She wore a green dress today, a dress that made him think of country fields in spring.
“You think I had a choice?” He looked up at her, looked into her clean, pure face and part of him hated her. A woman too good for him. A woman he could never have. Bitterness washed through him, tearing at his insides. He surged to his feet, welcoming the pain the movement brought. What to tell her? That part of him had always been afraid to leave? Not only because of the horrible beating he knew would follow when he was found, but because he had no where to go, nowhere he belonged but here, a whore house.
“I like it. That’s why I’m here. Now leave before we’re caught and you make things worse.”
She stared up at him, those eyes wide and luminous. “I’m so sorry, Alex.”
Sorry for what? For coming here? Or for making him dream impossible things? He chuckled, a harsh, unnatural sound. “Why? I obey her, I get to fuck a variety of women. What’s there to complain about? Every man’s dream.”
She didn’t even flinch at his harsh words. And the fact that she didn’t flinch panicked him. She knew. Dear God, she knew he didn’t want to be here. He could see the sympathy in her eyes. A softness that made him sick.
“You don’t mean that,” she said. “I can see it on your face. How old were you when you were taken?”
He didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to continue this line of conversation, yet his mind and body no longer seemed connected, he no longer held control. “Twelve or thirteen, I barely remember.” He lied. He remembered every moment of that day.
Tears swam in her eyes. “So young.” She moved closer, her warm scent reaching out to him. “Had you even been kissed?”
He swallowed hard. “Of course.”
She paused in front of him, her warm breath whispering across his neck. “And since? Have you been kissed Alex?”
He forced himself to laugh. “Of course I’ve been kissed.”
Lamp light played across her face, kissing her features with a golden glow. “No, have you ever been kissed because you wanted to kiss someone, because you were caught in the moment and all you wanted to do was see how their lips would feel against yours. See how they tasted. How warm their breath was.”
The words tore at his heart, made him feel pain he didn’t want to feel. Yes. Damn her. She knew the answer. When they’d kissed in that garret. Utterly alone.
She moved closer. So temptingly close. That dull, constant ache that kept him up at night when he thought about her flared to life.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “I won’t have you kiss me out of pity or sympathy.”
She stood on tiptoe, making sure not to touch him, but leaning close…so close he could feel her all the same. “Then how about because I want to?”
Before he could respond, she pressed her lips to his. A soft, gentle kiss. Alex shivered, his body sinking into hers. He wanted to crush her to him, take her, have her, make her his. His hands trembling, he cupped the sides of her face and slid his fingers into her silky hair. Timidly, her tongue swept across his lips. The touch was his undoing.
With a groan, he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss. He needed this, needed her. His hands clasped her upper arms, bringing her closer. He wanted her. Wanted her as he’d never wanted anyone.
Vaguely, he was aware of the door opening. “Alex,” Gideon’s harsh voice snapped through the room. “Ophelia. She’s headed this way.”
Alex tore his mouth from Grace, but didn’t pull away. He needed to keep touching her, needed her strength. He couldn’t seem to let go. Gideon stood in the hall looking as grim as always.
“What is it?” Grace asked, blinking in confusion, not even aware Gideon was behind them.
“Go.” He gently pushed her toward the door.
She stumbled, only to be caught in Gideon’s capable hands. Alex dampened down his irritation. Dampened down the need to reach out and pull her back to his side. “Get her out of here, now.”
Gideon tugged her into the hall, but she fought him, twisting in his grasp only to turn toward Alex. “When will I see you again?” she asked.
The question surprised him, made him pause. It wasn’t the words, but the need laced under the question. She wanted him. The words were out, the desire left hanging there between them.
As if sensing the importance of her statement, she flushed. “For an appointment, I mean.”
“I’ll be at the Rutherford Masked Ball,” he blurted out.
For one long moment they merely stared at each other, neither knowing what to do. With that simple question, she’d changed everything. Even Gideon showed his shock when he rarely showed any emotion. The man frowned and Alex knew exactly what he was thinking; Alex and Grace had crossed a line. But Gideon didn’t realize that at the ball Alex would make his escape. He merely needed to see Grace one last time.
“Go, now,” Alex demanded.
He reached forward, pulling the door shut and blocking her from view. But it was too late. It was too damn late. Her words had pierced his heart. He knew in that moment, she’d done the unthinkable and fallen for a whore. God help him, he was pleased.
Chapter 11
There was one time and one time only, when Lady Lavender allowed her boys to leave their gilded prison and enter the normal world.
Masked balls.
Not that people didn’t know who Lady Lavender was merely because she had a mask of brilliant violet and green peacock feathers surrounding those icy eyes. No, she was as noticeable with a mask as without. That flaxen hair, the petite, yet curvy body and her violet dress with a neckline so low, it was almost unlawful. They knew exactly who she was, but during a masked ball they could pretend to be ignorant. The next day they’d feign horror, all the while secretly thrilled that Ophelia had brought attention to their ball.
The men watched her wearily, wondering if the rumors were true, at the same time the desire was evident in their lusty gazes. The women, on the other hand, either ignored her, or threw her tiny smirks that bespoke of feminine secrets. She was watched. She was feared. She was adored.
But she didn’t arrive alone. Lady Lavender always attended masked balls with at least two of her pretty boys at hand. James, her favorite, had attended so many that he was almost at ease amongst the ton. Ironic, considering James had been born a street rat.
While Alex had been born to privilege, he felt anything but relaxed. He scanned the thickening crowd, dampening down the panicked need for air. Afraid he’d see someone he knew, or someone would recognize him from a former life. Fear of being out in the open with normal society. Fear of seeing his family. But mostly he despised the fact that he was treated exactly as how he feared he would…like a thing.
Yes, he and James were perfect specimens. Two men dressed impeccably in black suits, his jacket embroidered with golden thread that surely cost a small fortune, their handsome faces obscured only by a small black mask. Their demeanor as brooding and mysterious as a hero in any Gothic novel. It was a time for Lady Lavender to parade her wares, to tempt the women of the ton to her side. He’d been pinched, leered at, and groped by a variety of women and a few men. And still Alex had kept that charming, mysterious smile in place. Sure, his teeth were gritted so hard he was surprised they hadn’t cracked in his skull, but a feat indeed.
They stayed near the walls, out of the way of the crowd, their backs protected. They stayed on the outskirts of reverie, never belonging. Like statues placed along the perimeter for adoration. They were watched closely by everyone. Even now he could feel their gazes like insects crawling over his skin.
They wondered who he was, how he’d be in bed, and most importantly what he could do for them. Alex swallowed hard, his hands trembling. But none of that mattered tonight. It didn’t matter that they held no respect for him. That the men cursed him to hell. That the women thought of him only as a whore. None of that mattered because Grace had not attended.
He’d searched every female form, every masked face, hoping, praying to see her, but it was obvious she had decided not to attend. And perhaps that was for the best. A relationship would only complicate things. Why then, did his chest feel so tight? Why did he feel as if the world around him no longer mattered?
Taking in a deep breath, Alex set his flute of champagne upon a small side table. “James, you don’t tire of this?”
James glanced at him through the small mask he wore. “What do you mean?”
“Being nothing more than a toy.”
James shrugged, glancing quickly around to make sure they would not be overheard. Between the loud conversations, laughter and music, Alex knew they had as much privacy as they would in their bedchambers, but still the lad worried their conversation would travel back to Ophelia. And they mustn’t upset her.
“It’s a position. A job I do well. There could be worse things in life than pleasuring beautiful women.”
Alex patted him on the back, attempting to ignore the ire he felt at James’ statement. “That’s where you’re wrong, my boy. It’s not a job, it’s a hell in which we have no choice but to reside.”
James shrugged and started to walk away, making his rounds, or fleeing Alex’s intense statements, more like. “It could be worse.”
Alex frowned, biting back a reply. James refused to understand; refused to open his eyes. He insisted Lady Lavender had saved them. He couldn’t see that they were no better than prisoners, forced to sell their bodies. Of course it had taken Alex sometime to understand the truth of his situation. It was Gideon who had started putting ideas into his head.
“Why us?”
It was the first question Gideon had whispered to Alex and it was enough. With that question, something had shifted, a tiny flare of life had grown when he’d been so numb before. Why had Lady Lavender focused on them?
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore but escape. But where would he go? Seeing Grace was impossible. Not only would he risk her reputation, but now that they knew he’d escorted her home that night at the gaming hell, Lady Lavender would be keeping a watchful eye on Grace’s townhouse. But how could he leave without a farewell? He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He’d told her he would be here. She hadn’t come. Perhaps she didn’t want to see him. Perhaps she was done with this nonsense.
“Alex, darling, is that you?” someone whispered.
The rich scent of sherry and lilies swirled around him, a familiar scent although one he couldn’t quite place. He turned. Brilliant golden hair, dark eyes behind a mask of red feathers. He searched his memory until a name popped to mind. He’d been her first, although certainly not her last. “My Lady Sweetin.”
Her painted red lips pulled into a grin. “You remember me?”
She was bold to approach him when she knew people would notice. But then she liked attention. She wore her bodices low and paint on her face when it was frowned upon. She had found him on purpose, no doubt, knowing people would whisper. Perhaps she was attempting to make her husband jealous.
He took her gloved hand, bowing over the pristine white fingers, the only thing pristine about her. “I could never forget you. Although shame on you, I haven’t seen you in ages.” He fell back into his regular routine. Reel them in. Make a profit. “I’ve missed you.”
She giggled, sidling closer to him. Her perfume was cloying, as well as her personality. He resisted the urge to cough. She was gaudy, much like the ball room. Gold and marble, velvet curtains. They all belonged here, dandy prats. And at one time, he would have belonged here as well. Now…hell, now he belonged on the streets with the rats.
“You look delicious,” she whispered, her hand sliding to his backside and squeezing. He didn’t even flinch. Oddly, he wasn’t numb to her touch. Ire swarmed low in his belly like a swarm of bees. The anger was so sudden, so unexpected, that it shocked him into silence. Confused, he shifted his fingers through his hair. He was tired. Merely tired of them all. Either groppping women or quivering virgins. But not Grace. A
breath of fresh air.
No. He wouldn’t think of her. He wouldn’t think of Grace and her sweet eyes and her even sweeter mouth. He wouldn’t think about the fact that she made him dream of impossible things. Or the fact that she’d been completely ready to nurse him back to health when all others had forgotten him. He wouldn’t think of her because he’d told her he’d be at this ball, yet she hadn’t come.
Lady Sweetin drew her hand down his injured arm, the skin tingling in protest. “Meet me in the gardens.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand and as Lady Sweetin was one of their highest paid clients, he didn’t dare refuse. Besides, meeting with a client could provide him with the perfect opportunity to escape.
Alex inclined his head. “Of course.”
She flittered away, those round hips swooshing back and forth and commanding more than one man’s attention. Always work to be done. Lord, he didn’t want to play right now, but he had no choice. Never any choice. It had been days since he’d had a woman and Ophelia would be eager for him to get back into the chase.
He scanned the crowd, looking for the one woman whose permission he needed. Even thinking about leaving without Ophelia’s approval caused his body to ache all over again. He placed his hand on his ribs, rubbing a sore spot that refused to heal. Four days later and there was still some pain. Had her minions finally cracked a rib? They were supposedly trained to inflict pain, but not permanent damage.
He caught a flash of violet from the corner of his eye and turned, spotting Ophelia next to James. Just the sight of the woman made him sick. As if sensing him, she turned. No doubt, she was making sure her boy was where he was supposed to be. He gave her a slight nod. A silent message that told her he was working on a client and might be gone for awhile.
She frowned, but nodded back. She’d check on him, he knew that. Most likely send James to the garden in a few minutes. And James, the bastard, would no doubt run back to tell her all. Slowly, he edged along the perimeter of the ball, following the wall. So many colorful dresses, surrounded by black suits. Men and women flirting, moving amongst each other in a rhythm of give and take. Couples coming together because they were attracted to each other, not because they had to flirt.