Page 7 of For a Scot's Heart Only
“Thank you, but I am not interested in a game of cards.”
A smirking harlot sauntered by. “Stumbled into the wrong room, have you?”
Her esteem for those women rose a notch. How did they manage this night after night? Cooing, flirting, laughing, the women in Madame Bedwell’s employ never stopped, and she was too irked tosmile, be friendly, and listen. A useless strategy when a man’s sweaty hand clamped her wrist.
She tried to pull free. “Unhand me, sir.”
The florid-faced captain laughed and jerked her closer as if they played a game. Angry heat gathered behind her mask.
“What a despicable man.” She yanked harder, a curl flopping over her eye. “Let. Me. Go.”
His mirth fading, the captain squeezed her wrist, but pride forbade her from crying out as he hefted his bulk from the chair.
“Got a sharp tongue on you.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
They were nearly toe to toe, his bushy white nose hairs visible. Perspiration sprang from his temples, and his eyes had shrunk to cruel, dark spots.What an abominable oaf. Shoulders set, she speared him with a haughty stare.
“My first night in this establishment and I have come to a conclusion.”
The captain leaned in menacingly. “What might that be?”
Not to be put off, she leaned in too. “That London’s finest actresses live here. They’d have to be to feign ardor for one such as you.”
A harlot lounging against the wall clapped a hand over her mouth. Another turned away, giggling. Unfortunately, those two didn’t rush to help. Mary was alone in this fight—an adventurous spinster’s misfortune.
“Think you’re too good for the likes of me?” the captain asked.
Fury sharpened her syllables. “I amtoo good for you.”
His face turned claret and she swayed backward into a wall.
“Let her go, Culpepper,” said a deep-timbred voice.
Tension shot to her toes. Not a wall, a man. Firm, tall, and solid as brick.
A possessive hand slipped around her waist. She swallowed hard, owned by the man behind her. There were layers of silk and linen and sturdy boned stays between them, but the shock stuck to her skin.
The captain glared above her head. “I saw her first.”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s here to meet me.” A hint ofdockside toughness seeped into her rescuer’s vowels. “All night, if you must know.”
All night?There was no mistaking his inference, a point made clear when warm fingers caressed her neck.
She was breathing faster, and his scent was... distracting.
But the captain still had a vise grip on her arm. At nearby tables men were lowering their cards, and the director’s glower reached across the long room. His stance shifted as if he might leave the faro table to investigate the goings-on. She frowned, a bit desperate. To be tossed out her first night here would be most inglorious—she, who’d never been tossed from anything.
“If you don’t mind, I would like to leave with a minimum of fuss.” To Culpepper she offered a hasty, “There are plenty of women here. I’m sure one of them would enjoy the pleasure of your company.”
“As I shall enjoy yours,” the man behind her said for benefit of all.
He was toying with her choker’s gold medallion. Soft, featherlight touches chased by sweet, irksome tingles sliding down her neck. Thethud-thud-thudof her pulse in her ears drowned out conversation. Culpepper might’ve said something, but the man at her back consumed her.
Who is he?
His hand on her stomacher applied masterful pressure, enough to keep her in place, let her know he was in charge. She covered his hand with her own and explored. Large, warm, rough knuckles. A man who labored, yet his consonants were a gentleman’s, clean and round. Definitely educated.
