Page 21 of Doxy for the Ton
His mouth watered at the prospect of parading her about town on his arm. If she had the power to command a room in nothing but a bedsheet, imagine her allure when bedecked in the finery of a Society lady! Plain Mrs. Rex was too insufficient a pseudonym for her.
“You shall be Lady Rex,” he said, “for a little extra respectability.”
“LadyRex?” She shook her head. “N-no—I could never…”
“It’s perfect,” he said. “Your late husband can be an earl.”
“No!” She jerked back.
There it was again—the fear.
“Why not?” he asked.
She turned away. “A-an earl might be difficult to verify if required. But a knight—there are many more knights than earls, yes?”
“A knight it is, then,” he said. “Now—how about a name for your late husband?”
“I care not,” she said, in a voice that conveyed anything but.
There it was again, the undercurrent of sorrow. Perhaps she was a widow fallen on hard times, who took to the streets to fend for herself. Or a mistress, whose protector had abandoned her, or…
Or had died, leaving her destitute.
Was that why she’d insisted on securing her payment in the event of his not surviving? A woman in her circumstances had every need to be practical, particularly if she had trusted in the past and been exploited because of it.
And I as good as accused her of being a grasping hussy.
“How about Sir John as a name?” he suggested.
She shrugged. “It’s as good as any. The world must be awash with Sir Johns—one more won’t arouse suspicion.”
“Good,” he said. “So that’s settled, save one final question.”
Fear flared in her eyes. “Which is?”
“Is there anyone in this part of London who might recognize you?”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I-it’s unlikely.”
“Unlikely—but not impossible. Has a gentleman paid for your services before?”
Her color deepened, but she maintained her gaze, her eyes bright. “Not as a whore, no.”
“As something else?”
Her eyes shone with distress, and he cursed himself for being a cad. But if his scheme were to succeed…
“I’ve never been in this part of London before,” she said, carefully, as if she considered each word. “That doesn’t mean to say I won’t encounter someone I recognize. I…” She hesitated, then blinked. “I spent a few months in Sussex and encountered a man ofyour kindwho might be in Town.” Her voice hardened as she uttered the final words. “But that was several years ago. I’ve changed much since then.”
“Did you”—he gestured to her body—“with him?”
“Not withhim!” she spat. “I have some standards.”
“I’m flattered you consider me desirable enough to meet your exacting standards.”
“Don’t be,” she retorted. “You have but one desirable quality. Or, should I say, two thousand.”
He found himself admiring her resolve. She met his salvos with an equally fierce response.
