Page 14 of Doxy for the Ton
Her gut twisted at the rich scent of spices and the memory it evoked—a man, with kind eyes and a soft smile.
She bit her lip to distract her mind from the rising ache in her heart.
There’s no use remembering him. He’s long gone, and there’ll never be another like him.
Mimi dried her face, then she removed her wig and ran her fingers through her hair, digging her nails into her scalp. She let out a small sigh of relief—that wig itched almost as much as the face paint. But men seemed to prefer red hair, and the extra coin was worth a little discomfort.
She set the wig aside, then approached the window and drew back the curtain. A thin sliver of gray stretched across the night sky. Dawn was approaching, and with it, her ten guineas. She yawned, lifted her arms toward the ceiling, and inhaled, drawing in a lungful of air as she stretched.
Heavens!She couldn’t recall when she’d last been this tired. Clearly a night in a soft bed rendered her weak. She didn’t want to soften and grow used to it.
Not again.
Succumbing to another yawn, she returned to the bed and slipped inside, allowing herself the luxury of leaning against the warm body of the man inside.
He let out a long, low groan, and the anguish in his voice threatened to claw away the defenses around her heart.
She placed her hand on his arm. “Hush,” she whispered. “All is well.”
“They’re dead,” he said. “I killed them.”
“Killed who?”
He gripped her hand.
“Sir…”
“They’re dead because of me!” he cried. “Do you understand that? I’m going to hell because of what I did.”
The bed moved as he shook.
“The devil awaits me, and I deserve his retribution.”
He tossed his head to one side, then let out a howl of despair that shattered her soul.
“Be still!” she cried. “It’s just a dream.”
He sat upright, his profile silhouetted against diffused light from the glowing embers. “Are you a demon—come to take me to hell?”
“No.” She drew him close. “I’m here to give you pleasure.”
“And ease my pain?” he asked, his voice a hoarse plea.
“If you wish it.”
He relaxed in her arms, and she sank back onto the pillows, pulling him on top of her.
He brushed his lips against her chin, and a flare of longing ignited in her heart as his lips moved toward her mouth.
A kiss…
The most intimate of gestures—there was a reason why it was called the doxy’s downfall.
Surely one kiss wouldn’t risk her soul? To her, he was a means to coin, and to him, she was merely a soft body to rut.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath warm against her lips. “Mimi…”
She stiffened and turned her head to one side, and his kiss fell on her cheek.
