Page 57 of A Treacherous Trade
The youth downstairs who resembled Aidan had shaken me more than I wanted to admit. I didn’t just avoid thoughts or memories of him these days—I slammed the gate, lifted the drawbridge, and fled.
Tonight, that escape drove me right into the image of Aramis Night Horse. Where had he gone when he left The Orchard? Whose arms—if any—had he found himself in next? I knew our kiss aroused him, but did it affect him? Likely not, as he’d made it clear that a kiss held no meaning in his philosophy. Though he paid me his coin, nothing about the act itself felt like a transaction.
It had been… rather lovely, actually. One of the best I could remember. The Hammer had been right, in a way, when he listed the reasons why being someone’s first was a heady experience.
It felt like a privilege watching a curiosity become a discovery.
Beyond that, I’d enjoyed Night Horse’s company. And granted, he was not only easy to look at but extraordinary and intriguing as well. The scent, textures, and yes,flavorof him all enticed me.
But should they?
Decidedly not. He wasn’t a man to trifle with. To expect anything from. I knew this with all of myself. I’d be an absolute idiot not to.
Wandering away from Night Horse led me to Jorah, as they were inexorably linked. He wasn’t a man I dreamt about in my quiet moments alone, but in his presence, it was nearly impossible to conceive of another man.
And he wanted me. Not even Aidan had made that so outrageously obvious. There had been passion between us, but also restraint. Respect.
I didn’t think Jorah respected me at all. But he’d promised to worship my body. I couldn’t say I didn’t wonder what that would be like.
And then there was Croft.
Wasthere Croft?
Forbidding, scowling, commanding,irritatingGrayson Croft. A man on the correct side of the law who often did all the right things in the wrong way. He could be as violent as Jorah, as callous as Night Horse, and as stern as the Queen. I’d never taken a particularly close look at him, because he was gruff and cantankerous and hardly had a kind thing to say to me.
But there were moments when he looked at me…
I ran a hand over my face, scrubbing away these fanciful thoughts.
Lord, but Aunt Nola had been right. I was surrounded by dangerous men, and at any moment one of them might betray me. If I meant anything to any of them, it was as a pawn, a plaything, or a pain in the arse.
I’d do well to keep that in mind and keep my eye on what was important. I had an Aidan-sized hole in my heart, and I had to fill it with meaning. With strength and purpose, and perhaps the feminine rage that kept spinsters warm at night.
The door opened with such force that it crashed against the wall, making way for the raven-haired, crimson-clad whirlwind I assumed was Sophia.
I stood, ready to introduce myself, but she swept right past me.
“God’s ballocks, I’d rather stroke a cock than a man’s ego. It takes less fucking work, don’t you think?” Stomping to the washbasin, she splashed her face with some water and snatched a cloth to wipe the cosmetics from dripping into her eyes.
Obviously, I hadn’t the reference between the two, but I was ready to agree with her wholeheartedly. I opened my mouth, but she saved me from having to reply.
“Apparently, the boss has commanded I tell you everything I know about whatever you have to ask me, and that won’t take but five minutes, as you can fit the whole of my knowledge in a thimble.” Laughing at her own joke, she retrieved a chamber pot from beneath the bed and took it to the corner of the room.
She fluffed her skirts over it and squatted without so much as pulling the screen in front of her before a stream hit the porcelain.
Gasping, I whirled around to preserve her privacy, then berated myself for doing so, as the woman seemed less than worried about it.
“Place this fancy has a privy and everything,” she explained with a rough chuckle. “But the maid on this floor is a right bitch. I like to make her empty my pot.”
I nodded, though I couldn’t tell if she was looking at me or not. “My name is Fiona.”
“I know.”
Her stolid manner unnerved me somewhat, and I thought she enjoyed doing just that. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” I told the opposite corner of the room. “But I came to ask about Alys Hywell and Jane Sheffield.”
“I knew Alys was fish food weeks ago, but what’s this about Jane?” Her voice had hardened, and I turned back to her, mortified that I’d announced the death of an acquaintance while she was having a wee.
She’d finished, thank God, and was discarding her drawers to a laundry bin near the cupboard while looking at me expectantly.
