Charlotte’s bony shoulders drooped. “No. Bertie isn’t coming. He sent me a message to let me know he won’t come here for a few days. He’s travelling somewhere.” Too much sadness rang in her voice for a mere client.
I put a hand on her arm. “How are you feeling?”
She jolted but offered a strained smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m well, thank you.”
A lie if I’d ever heard one. Whatever that swine had done to her had shattered her into pieces, and she didn’t want to tell me what they did together. Which hurt. We’d always shared everything from a crust of bread when we’d been starving, to little secrets on our clients. And why on earth was she suddenly so obsessed with a man, and a client at that? Was it love?
“Does Bertie hurt you?” I took her hands.
“What? No!” She snatched her hands out of my reach. “He would never do that.”
“I’m worried. Since he became your client, you’re so pale, and you’re losing weight.”
“I’m simply tired.” She patted her blond curls. “That’s all.”
“Promise me you’ll see a physician.”
Her gaze travelled skyward. “Asia, stop it. If I had a sip of brandy every time you say that, I’d be drunk.”
“Charlotte—”
“Listen, one of my clients is a doctor. I’ll ask him to give me something to strengthen me. All right?”
No, it wasn’t, but pushing Charlotte to do something she didn’t want was like trying to move a mountain—frustrating and impossible. Violet was kind, but if we needed a doctor for reasons not related to work, we had to pay for the visit and the medicines, and I was happy to pay for Charlotte if needed. Besides, she wasn’t in any shape to work, and her obsession towards Bertie was . . . odd.
I straightened, the skirt flowing down my legs. “Are you in love with him?”
“No.” The answer came after a too long pause. “Of course not.” Her gaze clouded. “But I need him. Desperately.”
“Why?”
“He makes me feel alive.” Her voice slurred.
“Be careful.” I swallowed past the lump of sorrow in my throat and gave her a quick hug.
Charlotte chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to end up dead in a dark alley with my limbs severed like those unfortunate girls. I’m safe with Bertie.”
Dread twirled in my abdomen like an eel. The Herald journalists didn’t bother to report the brutal death of a whore anymore. There had been too many in the past months. Killing whores was London’s new hunting sport.
It could’ve been me. I could be one of the victims: dead in a pool of blood, mutilated. It could be me if I didn’t work here.
“Now go, darling.” Charlotte stood up. “My jockey is going to be here soon.”
I kissed her cold cheek. “Good luck.”
“We’re whores. There’s no such a thing as good luck.”
True words.
Taking a deep breath, I thudded down the stairs and crossed the foyer. Gentlemen were already roaming the house, drinking whiskey in the sitting room with one of the girls on their knee or simply ogling them and smoking cigars.
A short man in a black tuxedo shot me a greasy smile and rubbed his bottom lips with his thumb. If I had been a proper lady, I would’ve flushed with indignation and hurried away in a flutter of skirts, but he could be one of my potential clients—if not the very client I was going to meet tonight—so I pasted my practised smile on my face and wiggled my fingers, heading to Violet’s office.
Gentlemen kept arriving, and every time the front door opened, a gust of icy wind swept inside and sent chills up my naked back. The warmth in Violet’s office was a stark contrast with the cold foyer, or maybe it was my nerves that made me shiver.
Violet glanced up from the desk when I shut the heavy, soundproof door behind me. The light of the gas lamps shed a soft, orange glow on the cherrywood furniture. I’d love to curl up in the chintz armchair in front of the blazing fire and read a good book, forgetting about the world and its ugliness.
Felicity, the statuary woman who was our nurse, trainer, and housekeeper, perched on the desk. Her long brown hair was braided in a simple bun so tight it looked painful.
“I’m ready,” I said, showing my gown. “Is the mysterious man here?”
“Not yet,” Violet replied, raking an assessing glance over me.
“Suck that stomach in, Asia.” Felicity folded her arms across her chest. “And don’t slouch.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. The gesture would earn me a slap on the back of my head from Felicity. I straightened my back and jutted out my chin like a ballerina ready to perform.
“Is there anything else you wish to tell me?” Violet asked.
“What are you going to do with Charlotte?” I asked without preamble.
It was Felicity’s turn to slouch. She adjusted the high collar of her shirt and shot a glance at Violet.
“She’s pale, weak, and is losing weight. You aren’t going to throw her out, are you?” I stepped closer to the desk, sinking my slippers on the thick Oriental rug, a gift from one of Violet’s former clients.
Violet dropped the pen she was using and slumped back into the stuffed chair. “Charlotte isn’t following any of my advice on her health. I told her to take a few days of rest, eat more, and see a physician. She refused to do any of these things. In fact, she insisted on training today, only to nearly faint. I’m running a business here. This isn’t a charity, Asia.”
“She won’t last a minute out there.” My voice rose, and the black velvet choker clenched around my neck. “I can pay for her medical expenses.”
A flash of anger flickered in Violet’s gaze.
Felicity hopped down the desk and put a hand on Violet’s tense shoulder. “As Violet said, Charlotte pretends that everything is fine. Convince her to see a doctor, and we’ll see what happens. And for God’s sake, stop fretting. We aren’t going to throw out anyone.”
The weight on my chest lifted, but the anger left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“As usual, you jump to conclusions.” Violet’s tone rang sharply. “First, I want to know what ails Charlotte, then I’ll make a decision.”
“Don’t be angry with Asia.” Felicity bent closer to Violet. “She had good intentions.” She kissed Violet on the lips and sauntered towards the door.
Violet and Felicity never hid the fact they were a couple, and a happy one at that, judging by how they took care of each other, laughed when they were together, and were caught kissing in dark corners of the house. A love like that was rare.
Before leaving, Felicity paused on the threshold. “Aren’t you coming, Asia? Your jockey should arrive any minute.”
I wanted to ask Violet if she really wished me to spend the night with the mysterious man, but her stern face and narrowed eyes gave me the answer.
Sighing, I gathered my skirt and followed Felicity. The nagging feeling at the back of my neck promised a night full of excitement, and not necessarily of the good type.
Two
I LEFT VIOLET’S OFFICE with a lighter heart. At least Charlotte wouldn’t be left alone. For now. If she proved to be a burden, Violet would probably decide to give her the sack. The fact that she fed and provided us with an education didn’t mean she loved us like a mother. As she’d said, it was a business.
While Felicity took the stairs up, I walked towards the foyer—or rather, dragged myself towards the foyer. The closer I was to the house’s entrance, the heavier my feet became. It wasn’t the fact to meet a new client that tightened my insides in a knot, but the fact that Violet was scared of this man.
The happy, loud chatter of the clients was now a dull background noise that echoed in the corridor. The girls must’ve gone to their rooms with their jockeys. Soon it’d be my turn. On Saturday night, things might be quicker than usual. The gentlemen would go to the Sunday service in the morning and preferred to retire ear
ly and rest. They didn’t want to look as if they’d spent the night drinking, smoking, and dirty-puzzling with whores while listening to the sermon.
I wiped my clammy hands on my skirt as the sound of the front door shutting boomed. Whoever of the girl wasn’t on duty for the night would take care of welcoming the clients and ushering them to the sitting room. The smell of London’s coal burning in the stoves drifted and hit my nostrils.
I skidded to a halt when I stepped into the foyer.
Towering over Fanny, two men stood in the middle of the room. Snowflakes dusted their dark coats and top hats. Broad shoulders stretched the expensive fabric of their coats, and muscular arms flexed in the well-cut sleeves. The gentlemen had to be around six foot six, give or take a few.
These two men weren’t here for me, were they? I was supposed to work with only one. The knot of anxiety in my stomach tightened.
“I’ll call Madame Violet,” Fanny stammered, dropping a clumsy curtsy that held the same elegance of a fretting hen running in the garden. Rushing past, she cast a terrified glance at me and mouthed, “Oh, my Lord.”
Indeed.
Heart thumping in my throat, I strolled forward but without swaying my hips as I would’ve done in other circumstances. I wasn’t sure which one of these two tall, broad men was my jockey. I hoped neither of them. Dealing with a short, thin man in bed was one thing. Wresting with a client who had the body of a pugilist was quite another.
“Welcome to De Luna House.” I bowed my head, ignoring the wave of menace coming from the silent two blokes.
“Thank you,” a deep voice replied.
I gazed up and suppressed a gasp.
The man standing a few feet from me removed his top hat and shrugged off his coat, sending snowflakes fluttering on the carpet. Emerald green eyes seared me down, framed by lashes that overlapped at the tips. Unfashionably short hair the colour of dark honey outlined a hard jaw that seemed sculpted in marble.
He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man I’d ever laid my gaze upon, and I’d laid my gaze upon a fair number of men.
The shock of his presence stunned me to silence. Predatory menace radiated from his impressive build. This was no mere politician. Whatever he did for the government, it didn’t imply long hours behind a desk but hard, physical activity. He had to be a warrior, an officer perhaps, and a well-paid one judging by the fine clothes. And his companion wasn’t less stocky. The other man’s dark hair was flattened back, exposing his harsh, stern face. His pear-green eyes held nothing of the warmth of his friend’s.
Two different pairs of green eyes gazed at me. Now I knew how a lamb felt among wolves because those sharp stares could cut through glass.
“Are you Asia?” the blond man asked, removing his buckskin gloves.
I opened my mouth, but Violet’s quick footsteps cut me off.
She hurried to the foyer, a smile as fake as the diamond tiara Celestia wore when she had to dress up as the queen was pasted on her face. “Welcome, gentlemen.”
I fired a pleading glare at Violet. Two strong men weren’t part of the deal. Hell, only once I had been with two men, two ravishing twins so expert in the art of love making I’d been about to tip them after they finished with me. But these deuced humongous brutes? There wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance I would bed the two of them together.
The breath Violet drew in strained her tight bodice, and the pearl buttons of her shirt lifted. She turned to the blond man, smiling again. “I believe our arrangement was for only one, a grey-eyed one? But if your friend wishes to stay, I can provide a fine girl for him.”
My choker seemed to grow tighter by the minute. Not only the dark-haired man hadn’t shown any sign of interest in me, but even my suppose client didn’t seem affected by my charms. How could I keep them entertained if they didn’t like me?
“One of my girls, Fanny,” Violet said, stretching a graceful arm towards the trembling tart, “we’ll be happy to pleasure you for tonight.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m leaving.” The dark-haired man curled his upper lip as if in disgust and tugged at the sleeves of his tailored suit.
The sigh of relief I released had to be particularly noisy because Mr Blond arched a brow at me. The two men exchanged a long stare. An entire conversation was told in that single look.
Violet’s shoulders slumped, hard to say if in relief or disappointment for having lost a client. “Very well, then. This is Asia, grey-eyed girl as you requested.”
I took a dip in front of the blond man, my knees weakening, and I wasn’t sure it was only fear. He bowed his head in a gentlemanly gesture I’d rarely seen performed for me. A waft of his musky scent with a hint of bergamot teased my nostrils.
“Miss Asia, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said in that deep rumble.
A laugh almost burst out of me at his politeness. It was the first time a man bowed to me and called me ‘Miss’.
“Excellent.” The dark-haired man put his hat back on and dabbed a scented kerchief under his nose. “Good night, then.”
His voice held enough ice to freeze the Thames. He put a hand on the doorknob and went to open the door, but Fanny rushed to him.
“Let me, sir.” Her hand brushed his arm.
He inched away, his mouth twisting viciously. “Don’t you dare touch me, whore.”
The insult and the reaction were nothing new. The so-called civilised people leered at us and mocked us more times than we cared to count. But the way the dark-haired man said it dripped poison and hurt like a slap.
Fanny withdrew, hit the umbrella stand, and gasped when a ruckus echoed.
I put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently away from the door. “It’s all right.”
Mr Blond frowned and shifted his stance.
His companion loosened the collar of his jacket. “You know what to do,” he snapped at Mr Blond before filing out of the door without a second glance at me, Fanny, or the half-naked Bessy who strolled past, showing a creamy breast.
When the door shut behind the frost—and I wasn’t talking about the winter’s chill—Fanny relaxed.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered.
Violet pressed two fingers on her forehead.
Mr Blond bowed again. I liked that. His shoulders flexed nicely when he bowed.
“I apologise for my friend’s behaviour.”
Violet smiled. “Not to worry.”
“We’re used to it,” I said.
Violet coughed in her closed fist. Fanny grinned, but Mr Blond’s mouth didn’t twitch.
He stretched out an arm towards me as if I were a lady attending a ball. “Shall we?” His voice cracked.
Anticipation? Maybe.
I slid my hand in the crook of his arm, and his body’s warmth seeped into my skin.
It was customary for the clients to have a drink in the sitting room, where they chatted about sport or politics with other gentlemen while stroking a naked thigh or a breast. The aim was to let the men spend a few coins on the liquors and to make the clients half-drunk, so when the moment came for them to perform, they wouldn’t last long which gave us some respite and the chance to have more customers. And Lord knew if I needed to tire this man before taking him to my bedroom. His stamina had to be superb. He might go on all night.
I smiled and pointed at the sitting room. “Would you care to join the other gentlemen in the sitting room, sir?”
“No.” He tilted his head up the stairs.
An impatient one then. Great. Maybe he didn’t need the brandy to quicken his performance if he was so eager to start.
“Very well. Please follow me.”
I started up the stairs, and in any other situation, I would’ve rocked my hips suggestively or make some saucy comment on the gentleman’s good looks or wit. A gentleman loved compliments or hearing us exclaiming that his shaft was too big and heavy for us. As if.
Not tonight. Anxiety rode
me hard, and my muscles stiffened. His arm under my hand contracted, hard ropes tensing.
Despite his size, the man was silent like a thief. Definitely a soldier then or an assassin. Yes, certainly an assassin. His gaze searched the dark corners of the corridor, and the tendons on the back of his hands stood out. He was ready to fight if attacked.
With trembling fingers, I pushed the door of my room open and sauntered inside. His build and presence choked the space and sucked the air.
I lit the gas lamps on the nightstands and mentally thanked Felicity for having started the fire in the stove. “How should I call you?”
“There’s no need for names.” He paced the room with long, measured strides.
“You don’t have to give me your real name if you don’t want to. Any name would do it.” Another fake smile stretched my lips. “Something I can scream when you ride me.” I recited my usual script.
He paused, hot turmoil dancing in his stare. His blond hair caught the light and gleamed with a golden hue. If it weren’t for the stern expression on his face and the hard set of his jaw, he could pass for an angel.
“No names,” he repeated in a final tone.
“Would you like something to drink?” I asked, moving towards the small sideboard Felicity always replenished before the evening.
“No.”
Lord, an ice cube would be warmer. And he didn’t glance at me. But the job had to be done, so I neared him, ignoring the thumping of my heart in my ears.
I put my hands on his broad chest. “Let’s start then.”
He drew in a breath that strained his shirt further. Hard as steel muscles flexed under my palms, and I let out a soft moan. The steady beat of his heart kicked against my hand.
I fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat, wondering how his skin would feel. The sharp intake of air he took pushed his pectorals up.
Maybe I should kiss him. Men liked to be the first to kiss. They liked to be in control, but he was so still aside from his heaving chest that I doubted he wanted to kiss me. I started to work on his shirt.
The Royal Occult Bureau Page 2