The Virgin Whore (Hennessey Series Book 4)

by Meg Buchanan

  Eugene was still talking to Charlotte, oblivious to the battle of wills that had just occurred. Sophie now studied some space near the ceiling, her small breasts curving above the deep neckline of her dress.

  Then, he realised she was wearing nothing underneath the gown. She was dressed like the other girls now. Her body visible through the silk, the shape and shadow of thighs, stomach and hipbones exposed. The glimpse was so unexpected; he drew in a sharp breath.

  She glanced at him aware of his reaction, then looked away again, and pushed further back against the door as if she would like to sink into it.

  With that small movement of her body, one sleeve slipped, revealing the perfect smooth skin of her breast.

  Why he was so shocked? He knew what she had to be. He watched as she pushed the sleeve back in place. her arm across her body holding it there, defensive. The sequence, the bare shoulder accidentally revealed and then covered was alluring and looked unstudied.

  If she dropped her arm, he suspected the dress would fall from her body. And even when the sleeve was in position, the bodice of silk and lace barely covered her.

  He forced himself to turn away and interrupt Eugene and Charlotte. “Sophie is waiting.”

  Charlotte nodded, “To your rooms, gentlemen,” she smiled. “I will catch up with you later.”

  Courtney followed the other two along the wide passageways. Sophie stayed ahead, ignoring them, the fabric sweeping seductively over her body. The skirt revealing even more when she moved. Sophie turned to the left and went through the set of heavy double doors that lead to the ornate carved staircase.

  He expected her to leave once they entered the suite. But silent and still looking at neither of them she went through the door out to a back room, then came in carrying a jug of steaming water.

  She went first to Eugene’s room, then came into his. He watched her pour some of the hot water into a basin, put the jug down, then remove shaving gear from a drawer, brush, razor, soap, flannel and towel and place them on the small dresser.

  “I will stay with you and help you dress,” she said.

  “You’re not staying. I can dress myself.”

  She ignored the dismissal, turned and played with the shaving brush. “Miss Pryor asked me to look after you this evening,” she said quietly.

  His attitude hardened. With her upbringing, how could she bear to do this work? “There is no need, you may go.”

  “Miss Pryor said I have to help you,” she concentrated on the brush, turning it now.

  He took off his coat and put it on the chair. “I’ve managed to dress myself in the past.”

  Sophie looked up, and half-smiled. But still didn’t leave. She was polite and reserved, despite the way she was dressed. She put the shaving brush down, picked up the coat he’d just discarded, went to the wardrobe, and lifted an empty hanger off the rail.

  He saw the evening clothes still there. She hung the coat on the hanger then on a hook behind the door. “Have you finished the work you were telling me about?” she asked quietly, then took the suit and dress shoes out of the wardrobe and put the shoes neatly on the floor and hung the suit on a hook above them.

  He started to unbutton his shirt. “Yes, it’s done. You can go,” he said again.

  “I don’t mind staying,” said Sophie. The sleeve of her gown dropped off her shoulder again, she pushed it back impatiently, then went back to the wardrobe and took out the rest of the clothes and another empty hanger, then leaned against the drawers, empty hanger dangling from her hand.

  He turned his back to her, took off the shirt and put it on the chair. She stepped away from the dresser, moved around him, picked up the shirt and draped it on the hanger then folded the neckcloth over top and hung both in the wardrobe with the jacket. She went back to leaning against the drawers, holding the shoulder of her gown in place.

  So lovely. The way she moved, the way she spoke, so cultured, so elegant, so young. But he wasn’t tempted. Her being here was so wrong. Besides, he didn’t like to share. He sat down on the daybed to take off his boots.

  She inclined her head a little as she watched him struggle. “Do you need help?”

  He shook his head. “If I allowed you to help, you would lose your gown, and I think it is a little early in the evening for you to be naked.” He looked up at her and saw Sophie bite her lip at that.

  But his rudeness still hadn’t frightened her off. She stayed where she was. A child in a whore’s gown, close to naked, twisting the wide filigree bracelets on her wrists around and around.

  He pulled off one boot, put it on the floor and started on the next and watched Sophie push herself away from the dresser and walk across the room. She picked up the boot, holding the bodice in place again while she waited for the next and put them in the bottom of the wardrobe.

  He stood and went over to the dresser, still watching Sophie as he picked up the shaving brush, dipped it in the water and then swirled it on the soap. Yes, she was lovely. He was lying to himself when he decided he wasn’t drawn to her before.

  After she’d finished putting the clothes in the wardrobe, Sophie stood behind him and watched as he shaved. Her face moved; the shape of her mouth changed as she imitated him.

  He caught her eye; raised an eyebrow, and she half-laughed, a nervous sound. She wasn’t comfortable around him so why wouldn’t she leave? He’d ordered her to go several times and she’d ignored him each time.

  “Sorry,” she said. “But men look so funny when they do that.”

  “You don’t have to watch.” He took a towel and dried his face.

  She shrugged then picked up the bowl of soapy water. “I’ll empty this for you.” The refined speech; the perfect delivery was still there. She went out the door, and a few minutes later she came back with the empty basin, put it on the table and filled it with water from the jug again.

  With the light behind her, the silk of her gown so fine it was almost transparent and allowed him to see her body clearly now. He could see the dark triangle at the base of her stomach. It was a wonder Charlotte hadn’t ordered her to rid herself of that.

  A memory caught at him, of Millicent reclining naked on the bed, as full-blown as Sophie was slender. She lay, legs apart and he knelt between her bent knees, the shaving brush in one hand, the razor on the sheet beside them. She’d asked him to shave her. For her pleasure and his, she’d said.

  What would Sophie’s reaction be if he ordered her to let the dress fall from her shoulders and lie on the daybed, legs apart so he could shave her? He picked up the soap, put it in the water. Would she laugh at first, the way Millicent had? Then lie there while he took his time exploring her body with its folds and crevices. Would her eyes slowly darken with desire?

  A way-ward thought. She was just a child. “Leave now,” he said abruptly. “You really don’t have to stay. I don’t need an audience.”

  She ignored him again, walked to the daybed and curled up on it.

  “I won’t peek.” She put her hands over her eyes like the child she was.

  “Go,” he said again.

  Chapter 7

  “I CAN’T,” SHE SAID and lowered her fingers from her face.

  The mask had dropped for a moment, and the change of mood was instant, no teasing, just sadness. The sadness brought him up with a jolt. He’d been starting to enjoy the tussle.

  He washed his body, still watching her. And another thought occurred to him. Someone must have organised for her to be here. Who would have done that?

  In the silence, she recovered, put the smile back in place but gave up the pretence of not peeking. He picked up the towel, dried his chest and arms and continued to watch the performance. She sat there, her elbow on the cushion and her chin cupped in her palm, preparing to watch again.

  He started to undo the buttons on his trousers. This time she did look away. A more natural reaction than the teasing and peeking.

  Then she rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand, drew a
breath in slowly and uncurled from the day bed.

  She stood and glided over to him, still smiling, now consciously flirtatious. “Before you came the first time, Charlotte said you were handsome.” She slid her hands over his bare chest, her palms felt cold and clammy on his skin.

  He took her hands and held them at her sides. The false smile on her lips faded a little as he stared at her. “And what’s your opinion?” he asked coldly.

  “Charlotte is right, you are very striking.” She smiled, but it was hesitant. As if she was repeating a lesson.

  “Do you say that to all your customers?” He watched for her reaction. For a moment, she looked as if he’d hit her.

  He let go her hands, she stepped back, looked down, concentrated on the pattern on the rug. But in just a heartbeat, she looked up again. She took a deep breath, then went back to the flirting, observing him from under her lashes. “Only you of course,” she said, with the perfect diction.

  “How much do you charge?” He asked it to goad her.

  It took time, but she managed to gather up her professional face and plaster it on again. She gave a smile filled with irony. “Miss Pryor said you’re a guest not a customer.”

  He could hear the mockery, the bravado, it was only just there, but it definitely was there. This was a whore with a difference. Irony wasn’t usually a tool in their repertoire.

  “I don’t need an audience. You don’t have to stay.” He removed his trousers.

  Now he was naked, she looked down at the rug again. “I have to stay.” She linked her fingers and studied them.

  “Why?”

  “I am your companion for the night. Miss Pryor said Mr Jones requested me for you.” She still didn’t look up, but the mask had gone. She had been intriguing since that first meeting when she served their meal. The breeding, the beauty, the reserve, the restrained flirting, now all he could see was anguish.

  “Eugene was mistaken. You can have the evening off.” He finished washing, dried himself then picked up the evening clothes. He threw the tailcoat and waistcoat onto the chair, took the shirt from the hanger, and pushed his arms into the sleeves. He did up the buttons watching her and then took the trousers and stepped into them. Sophie kept her eyes firmly on her fingers.

  There was a knock on the door. Eugene’s voice came from the other side. “Are you ready?”

  Sophie looked up, tears welling in her eyes. “Please,” she pleaded softly as if frightened of being heard. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to act, but I have to stay with you. You have to be happy with me.”

  Courtney heard the fear in her voice, saw the pleading in her eyes. Convincing, either she was a great actress, or she really was afraid.

  Damn Eugene for putting him in this position. But if Sophie was this frightened, something was very wrong. She hadn’t looked frightened a few days ago. She looked puzzled, nervous, out of place, wary and defiant but not frightened. He couldn’t ignore this. He’d deal with Eugene later.

  “Just the evening,” he said finally. He’d keep her with him to protect her from whatever she was so frightened of. Though only a few minutes ago, she had reason to be frightened of him. It was fortunate she couldn’t read minds.

  “Thank you.”

  “Does Eugene have a companion?”

  Sophie shook her head. “Miss Pryor said Mr Jones only comes for the gambling.” No surprise there.

  “You can spend the evening with me but stay in the room for now. I need a private word with Eugene.”

  Sophie nodded and sat on the day bed again. “You won’t forget me, will you?”

  “No, I’ll be back in a minute.” He went out and shut the door behind him. Eugene was waiting, still adjusting his cuff buttons. Pearl. Other than that, he was dressed as Courtney was. Tailcoat, waistcoat single-breasted. Trousers full and wide, a stripe down the side. Tie, straight self-tied linen bow, square ends.

  Eugene nodded at clothes. “I thought they would fit.”

  Courtney looked down at himself. “It’s little more than I usually bother with, a tuxedo would have done.”

  “No one will be that informal.”

  “And a three-inch collar?” Courtney hooked his finger into the top of the collar and eased it away from his neck.

  “It’s the fashion. Why’s Sophie staying in the room?”

  “I don’t want to involve her in what we’re doing. I spoke to Declan and he’ll help. He also said Seb and Finn are in Auckland and you’d know how to contact them.”

  “Do William and John need them?”

  Courtney nodded. “Yes, they think it will go faster with the extra help.”

  “That sounds sensible. I’ll have them on-site Monday. Ready to go?”

  “In a moment.” He opened the bedroom door. “Sophie?”

  As she came out, he nodded at her then looked at Eugene. “This is your work I hear.”

  “No, Charlotte asked me what you thought of Sophie, I merely told her you appeared to like her.”

  Strange, Charlotte assigned Sophie to him on that? Her motives wouldn’t be generous or pure. Not with her history. Nothing he could do about that now. They left the room and made their way back to the foyer.

  In the foyer, Eugene talked to the maître de this time. While they waited for him, Courtney watched Sophie. She leaned against the curved handrail of the staircase in the foyer, her head turned, looking out the window as if she could see into the darkness and could ignore that she was barely dressed, with two men she hardly knew. She bit the tip of her finger but other than that she didn’t move.

  “My friend does tire of talking eventually,” he said to her and Sophie flickered a smile at him.

  Then when Eugene had finished the conversation, Courtney put his hand out to Sophie. She sighed, pushed herself away from the rail, one hand lay gently in his; the other held the front of her dress so it didn’t sweep on the floor as she moved.

  “Thank you,” she said, looking directly at him for the first time since they left the room. The fact that she was clearly naked beneath the dress spoiled the illusion of flawless manners and social grace.

  She glanced over her shoulder, and he felt the grip on his hand tighten as Charlotte sailed towards them.

  “Sophie, you are to bring my friends luck,” Charlotte ordered.

  Sophie smiled brilliantly and chillingly. “They will have a lovely night,” she answered, and snuggled closely into his side.

  “I’m sure they will.” The threat behind the words just veiled. “I will join you when our table is ready,” Charlotte said to Eugene, he nodded, and she moved away.

  Courtney guided Sophie through the door to the bar room, hand lightly on her waist now, she looked back at him and gave a small hesitant smile as she sat.

  Eugene got them drinks then wandered off to talk to an acquaintance again. The man just couldn’t stay still.

  Sophie sat at the table, her arm across her body holding the neckline of her dress in place, shyly covering her breasts. There had been something odd but intimate about being with her in his room, and she’d relaxed a little, but now they were out in the open she was a stranger again.

  Sophie reached for her glass, and one of the bracelets slipped down over her hand and showed a badly bruised wrist. He was utterly, but unreasonably shocked again. The injury was an occupational hazard, he’d seen bruises like that before in similar establishments.

  He reached across, took the other hand, and pushed the bracelet up. That wrist was bruised too. Two, or three-day-old bruises. She snatched her hand away from his, pushed the bracelets down and buried both wrists in her lap.

  “Did someone hurt you?”

  She shook her head and looked at him defiantly. “I fell,” she said.

  “Oh, really? Who did you fall with?”

  Sophie stared at him, still hiding her wrists and the tears welled in her eyes. She tried to dash them away on her bare shoulder.

  Sophie obviously didn’t want to talk about it so he let
the matter drop and watched his glass to give her time to regain her composure. When she seemed calmer, he said, “I saw something beautiful the other day.”

  Sophie looked at him and gave a little smile. “What was it?”

  “A friend took me to a waterfall in a clearing. It was up on Mount Karangahake, and I don’t think many people have been there.” A secret that wasn’t his to tell, but it didn’t matter, he’d never see Sophie again and who was she going to share the secret with?

  “How do you get to it?”

  “From the back of my friend’s farm, and he said you can go along the old mining road and then up a creek and get there that way too.”

  Sophie nodded. Across the room, he saw Charlotte watching them.

  Sophie followed his gaze, and suddenly she stood. “You have to come upstairs with me, now.” All pretence they were going to eat a meal and then go to the casino was gone.

  But the bruises on Sophie’s wrists were disturbing. He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

  She took his hand and frantically tugged at it, trying to force him to stand. “You must, you must, you must.”

  He sat there a little longer, but she seemed terrified again, so he gave in to the demand. He’d go upstairs with her and find out what was going on.

  As they left the room, he spotted Seth, even more drunk than last time. He had his arm around the waist of a young girl, dark-haired, and dressed like Sophie, her gown a very delicate oyster colour, Charlotte must have decided pale colours were the thing.

  “Good evening, Mr Samuels.”

  “Here again, Seth?”

  “Enjoying myself.” Seth gave the waist of the young girl a squeeze. “And I have Lucy now.” The girl glanced down at the hand on her waist, and then looked remotely first at Seth, then at Courtney. This was the girl he saw dragged into the room a few days ago. And she looked as frightened as Sophie had minutes ago.