As if the weather was following my mood, dark clouds gathered and hid the dying sun. A cold northerly swept the road, and the allure of my warm bedroom and a cup of tea made me speed up. Only to skid to an abrupt halt on a corner of the street.
Bertie stood in front of me, although I was sure he hadn’t been there a moment ago. I staggered back, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“Asia, good evening.” He removed his tall hat and grinned. The smile didn’t hold any warmth though, and his icy blue eyes glinted with poorly concealed lust.
“I thought you were out of town.” Rude of me to not even apologise for having bumped into him or to not return the greeting, but his stare made my skin crawl.
Dark-blond strands of hair whipped over his sharp pale cheeks. “When can I have the pleasure of your company?”
The air was thick with the scent of roses as he took a step closer.
“My schedule is full. I told you. The other girls will be happy to take care of you.” I hated that my voice trembled, but the street was empty, and aside from a black brougham parked at the curb with two impatient horses, there was no one.
You’d be surprised to know what lurks in the shadow even during the day. Mr Blond’s words echoed in my mind.
A shudder of dread sprang through my body.
Bertie advanced again. “I don’t want any other girl but you. Any price. Just say how much you want.”
“It’s not a matter of money.” I went to sidestep him, but he caught my arm with surprisingly warm fingers.
The scent of roses intensified. A strange fragrance for a man, although the aroma held a sharp, spicy flavour.
“I’ll be gentle.” His breath reached my skin. “And I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
I seriously doubted that. I yanked my arm free, all pretences of politeness gone. “You aren’t going to be my client.”
His eyes flashed, and the horses neighed, stomping their hooves on the cobbles.
“Asia,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Goodbye.” Pulling the collar of my coat up, I sped up on the pavement, not daring to glance behind me to see if Bertie was staring at me—or worse, was following me.
The knob of De Luna House’s front door was within the reach of my hand when hurried footsteps resounded. Dash it. Would he ever leave me alone?
I spun on my heel. “What do you want?”
Charlotte flinched. “It’s me.”
My shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I thought it was . . . one of my clients. He was stalking me.”
Telling her that Bertie had been quite insistent on having me wasn’t the right thing to say. He’d told her he was out of town. She’d be hurt to know he was here in London and chasing me.
“Blazes.” She glanced around, her burgundy coat flapping around her. “Is he gone? Who was it? Are you all right?”
A chuckle escaped me. “I’m fine, and yes, I think he’s gone.”
“They’re all pigs.” She hooked her arm with mine as we entered the warm foyer. “Except Bertie.”
That comment wiped out the smile on my face.
“Did you find him following your instinct?” I asked, removing my coat.
She glowered, and I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I didn’t want to sound so mean, but I’m worried about you.”
The fur-trimmed hood fell back, revealing her golden hair. It wasn’t glossy like before, but rather dull and straw-like. “I know it sounds crazy, but I could swear he was close. That’s why I came here now. I followed his presence here, but he isn’t here.”
Follow his presence? I kept my mouth shut and didn’t tell her that yes, it sounded completely crazy. Still, I couldn’t hide my concern for her. Besides, she was right. Bertie had been here. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you remember that time when we were fifteen and stole that basket of bread from that huge man?”
I wasn’t sure what that episode had to do with anything, but I nodded. “Of course I do. The man chased us through half London. I’ve never run so fast in my whole life.”
“You wanted to take a shortcut to leave him behind, but I insisted to go through the open market.”
“And we did lose him.” I smiled again as an image of Charlotte and I stuffing our mouths with bread flashed in my mind. We hadn’t had anything to eat for three days, and that bread had tasted delicious.
“You trusted me then. I told you I was following my instinct, and everything went well. Just like I’m following my instinct now.” Her hands wrapped around mine in a reassuring gesture that didn’t reassure me at all.
“Charlotte. Having a hunch on where to escape isn’t the same thing as following a man around London.” A man who had just told me he wasn’t interested in any other girl but me. I wasn’t flattered, by the way.
Her bottom lip quivered. “I’m only saying that I know what I’m doing, but I need my best friend’s support.”
Dash it. Her words were like a punch on my sternum. I hugged her tight. “Of course I support you. I’ll always be here for you.” Especially if that meant kicking Bertie’s arse.
Five
IF A CONTEST IN stubbornness existed, the Frenchmen would win it. There was nothing more obstinate than a Frenchman, and a scorned Frenchman was twice as stubborn.
Jean-Pierre was sprawled on the very armchair of my bedroom where Mr Blond had been last night. Locks of midnight hair dropped on his handsome face as he glowered like a child who had been denied his favourite toy. The favourite toy being me in this instance.
“I don’t understand.” His thick French accent intensified with annoyance.
I sat on the bed in front of him, careful to not wrinkle the blue silk dressing gown I was wearing. “I have a new client. This is business. Don’t take it personally.”
My hair bounced in waves on the small of my back when I adjusted the sash.
“I don’t want to go with Fanny. She speaks a terrible French. She can barely read it. I pay to see you.” He sipped his whiskey, watching me from the rim of the glass.
Even though he was one of my favourite clients, knowing that Mr Blond would soon be here made my skin tingle in anticipation, which didn’t make any sense since he had touched me more when we were in the street that morning than when we were alone in my room. I’d left my hair down for him. I didn’t usually do that because men liked to pull a woman’s tresses when they were too excited, and it hurt. But Mr Blond needed some encouragement.
“Fanny learned to read one year ago.” I’d taught her, and she’d been an enthusiastic student. “Be patient with her.”
He scoffed. “Ta gueule.”
“I’m not going to shut up,” I replied in French. “And you need to leave my room. My client will be here any minute.”
“La vache. I should challenge him to a duel and keep you for me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Besides, my money was on Mr Blond to win the challenge.
With one tilt of his head, he polished off his glass of whisky. Then he rose, unravelling his fine masculine body. “At least give me a kiss before I go.”
As Madame Violet always said, never do anything free of charge, and as much as I enjoyed Jean-Pierre’s kisses, he was only a client.
“You’ll have to pay for it,” I said, tossing my hair over my shoulder.
He rolled his eyes and waved an impatient hand. “Bien entendu.”
From the pocket of his trousers, he fished out a handful of gold sovereigns and lobbed them on the bed. They clinked against each other.
“Enough for a kiss?” Jean-Pierre knelt in front of me and put both hands on the sides of my hips. His expensive perfume wafted from his half-unbuttoned shirt that showed a triangle of tanned skin.
“Enough,” I said.
I had barely the time to finish talking that his firm, eager lips pressed against mine in a hard kiss. His expert tongue thrus
t inside my mouth and caressed mine. My neck relaxed while I let him explore my mouth. The man knew what he was doing. The kiss was a perfect blend of technique, tenderness, and burning passion. A bit too domineering maybe, but Lord if my core didn’t throb. He sucked my bottom lip gently while the tips of his fingers trailed along my neck and brushed my nipple through the fabric.
The light of the corridor flooded the room when the door swung inward.
Jean-Pierre broke the kiss and among a few muttered “Merde” turned towards the door.
My breath caught.
Mr Blond stood on the threshold. The yellow light of the gas lamps limned his large frame as he stared at us, reeking of menace. For some reason, guilt slipped in my chest like a cold blade. Which was ridiculous. Jean-Pierre was a client. Mr Blond was a client. That was it.
“Qu'est-ce que tu voulais?”
I gasped at Jean-Pierre’s rude tone. Barking ‘what do you want?’ to Mr Blond wasn’t the right move.
Mr Blond stepped into the room with those leather boots that could pulverise marble. He unbuttoned his coat with the pristine care of a cat unsheathing its claws and draped it on a chair.
“I believe I paid for tonight.” His piercing glare pinned me.
Maybe I was overreacting, but I could swear there was jealousy in that glare.
I swallowed. “You have to go.” I waved Jean-Pierre away, face burning with shame.
“Bah!” Blathering expletives that didn’t sound less vulgar just because he said them in French, he marched towards the door. “Be quick,” he snapped, pausing next to Mr Blond. “I want to spend some time with her.”
Mr Blond bared his teeth. “I hope you enjoy disappointment because I’m not going to be quick.”
There was a moment of charged silence where they glared at each other, seemingly ready to rip each other’s throat. I almost expected them to draw swords and fight to death for me. Not as romantic as it might seem. In all honesty, I believed they were dramatising, not to mention that being treated like a prize to win—or worse, like a tree were two dogs wanted to pee, wasn’t flattering in the least. But hearts and flowers were never part of my job.
Jean-Pierre wisely averted his gaze. Another stream of French words trailed behind him as he strode out of the room.
While Mr Blond shut the door, I touched my warm cheeks. Shame, anticipation, guilt, excitement. My body’s reaction puzzled me.
“Good evening.” He plucked out his gloves and put them on the nightstand. “I’m sorry I interrupted you.”
“It was just Jean-Pierre.” A nervous laugh escaped me. I rose to give my edgy body something to do. “Welcome.”
He eyed the coins on my bed and adjusted the knot of his cravat but didn’t say a word.
“The coins are for the kiss.” The words rushed out of my mouth. I didn’t owe him any explanation. “He paid for the kiss only.” I collected the coins and stuffed them in the pocket of my coat. “Only a kiss.”
Mr Blond frowned.
“Sorry, I’m blabbering. Don’t listen to me.” Why didn’t the bed swallowed me whole? I pressed my lips together to shut up.
As he neared me, a different type of warmth spilled within me. My lips tingled, but not because Jean-Pierre had kissed me. The fabric of the dressing gown chafed my hardening nipples.
Another step closer.
The air was thick with his rich, spicy scent. His gaze seared me down, and my traitorous heart gave a lurch.
Another step closer.
He stood inches from me.
I parted my lips, waiting for him to kiss me or touch me.
He bent closer, chest heaving. His fists clenched tightly enough to whiten the knuckles, as if he were forcing himself to behave. It was his restraint that shot need to my core. I wanted to see him undone by passion, wild and untamed.
But he withdrew and sat on the damned armchair. I might burn it, so he wouldn’t have anywhere else to sit. The cushion huffed when his weight hit it. He propped his elbows on his knees and remained there.
The crushing disappointment almost made me yell. I licked my dry lips. He wouldn’t sit there all night again, would he? It wouldn’t make any sense. Why coming here, teasing me, and paying me just to sit in my chintz armchair?
There was only one way to find out. My legs shook a little when I tugged at the sash closing my dressing gown and started to open the lapels. My cleavage appeared from the gap. I dispensed with the chemise and opted for only a pair of white satin leggings, secured with silk lace garters. Aside from the leggings and a short pair of blue silk unmentionables, I wasn’t wearing anything else under the dressing gown.
The weight of his gaze tickled my skin and was as strong as a caress. I dragged the dressing gown off my shoulders, biting my bottom lip.
“Stop.” It wasn’t just a word but a command. Authority oozed from it like fat from a piece of mutton. “Keep your clothes on.”
The only lights on were the two gas lamps on the nightstands, and if he’d been affected by my attempt of seduction, it was hard to tell. Judging by the arctic tone of his voice, he wasn’t impressed.
“Don’t you want to have sex?” I didn’t open my dressing gown, but I didn’t fold back it either.
A sharp exhalation shook his massive shoulders. “It’s not that simple.”
“Are you going to stay on that armchair all night?”
He tilted his head. “What I do with my time and money is none of your business.”
“You’re in my room.”
“I paid to be here.”
I threw a hand up. A moment ago, shame had been burning me to death. Now it was anger boiling in my veins. Only Mr Blond could cause such a mood swing.
“You know what? You paid for my company, but this is my room, and if I want to stay naked, I can damn well do it.”
I shrugged off the dressing gown. The smooth fabric pooled at my feet with a soft swish. The light cast soft shadows on the curve of my breasts and my flat abdomen. My skin prickled, and my nipples hardened painfully. His hearty scent flavoured the air, intoxicating me. His eyes flared wide . . . for the briefest of moment. The scent and the tension vanished, leaving me somewhat cold.
He averted his gaze like a perfect gentleman. “Put your clothes on.” There was a rough edge in his voice.
“No.”
“Madame Violet guaranteed you would’ve done everything I told you to do. She was very specific on this point. So put your clothes on.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Make me.”
“Curse you for breathing.” He shoved to his feet and snatched my dressing gown from the floor in one smooth, fast move. Too fast for my eye to follow.
Rough hands placed the dressing gown around my shoulders.
I swatted his hands away. “Leave me.”
“You were supposed to obey me.” He shoved my arms into the sleeves.
His steely fingers held me in place, not with enough strength to leave bruises, but I certainly couldn’t move.
Despite his effort at being a proper gentleman, his gaze flickered over my taut nipples. Among curses, he yanked the fabric until he covered me.
“Can’t you behave, dammit?” he asked, standing half an inch from me. “It’s not easy for me.” His chest brushed mine when he inhaled.
Words froze on my tongue. His words didn’t make any sense. It was the first time I had to encourage a client to touch me.
I put my hands on his chest and pushed. Not that he budged. “Can’t you understand this is my job? I’m not some precious maiden you have to worry about.”
“I’m trying to help you.” His anger could set the curtains on fire.
“Why are you here? What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.” His upper lip curled into a snarl that would have been vicious in any other man, but on him only enhanced the sensual curve of his mouth. “I just want you to sit on the bed and forget that I’m here. Is it too much to
ask?”
I should be pleased, happy even. I was paid to do nothing. Yet the heated frisson of fury working its way through me made me shiver.
“If you don’t like me, you can find another girl,” I said.
“I don’t want another girl.”
Maddening man. “Are you impotent? Can’t you perform? I know a few tricks that might work. I can take you in my mouth and—”
“Asia!” He massaged his temple with two fingers. “God, just shut up, will you?”
The rattling of a carriage broke the tense moment between us, and I averted my gaze from his intense scrutiny. A breeze blew from the window. The curtains quivered.
He finally stepped back and raked a hand through his hair, muttering something.
I shoved the curtain aside—no need for privacy since he didn’t want to bed me—and peeked out of the window. A sleek black brougham had stopped in front of the house. Its front lamp cast tremulous glows on the iced cobbles. The driver jumped off the box and entered the house. There was something familiar and itchy in the way he moved, but it could be the cold. Voices echoed from the corridor. A door slammed, and quick footfalls clunked down the stairs.
The pricking sensation I’d experienced that morning while tailing Mr Blond nagged me. I rubbed my goose-bumped arms. A yellow beam from the opening front door lit the porch, and the driver hurried out of the house followed by someone else.
The burgundy coat trimmed with fur gave her away, and my heart leapt to my throat. Charlotte was leaving the house again. The brougham must be Bertie’s then. In fact, it was the same one I’d seen when I met him earlier.
“Who is he?” Mr Blond asked. He was next to me in a moment, his arm brushing mine.
Damn. I’d spoken aloud.
I cleared my throat and huddled the dressing gown closer to my shivering body. “One of the girls, Charlotte, is meeting a client outside. Violet won’t be happy.”
“The brougham?”
The Royal Occult Bureau Page 5