Page 3 of Doxy for the Ton
Earl Mayhew…
“B-but that means…”
Her voice trailed off as her corset grew overly tight. The world slipped out of focus, and her legs began to shake. She stepped back, reaching for the back of the sofa to steady herself.
“Wh-when…?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Last week. The funeral was yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” she cried. “You didn’t think to—”
“To what?” he snarled. “Invite my father’s whore to flaunt herself at his graveside? What sort of a fool do you think I am?”
A wave of nausea crashed through her body and she bent forward, drawing in a lungful of air. Her legs gave way and she crumpled to the floor, closing her eyes against the pain and loss. But the pain remained—filling her heart with blackness.
Then she opened her eyes to see Mayhew’s booted feet on the rug, while he stood, looking down at her, a predatory smile on his lips.
Walter…
Hot tears threatened to spill, but she kept them at bay. Her tears were for Walter—not his profligate son.
Mayhew leaned forward and extended his hand. For a moment, Jemima stared at him, then she took the proffered hand and he hauled her to her feet.
“Th-thank you.”
She tried to withdraw, but he pulled her close, and her nausea increased at the acrid stench of brandy and sour wine.
“Unhand me, sir,” she said.
“Only if you address me properly.”
Jemima swallowed her dislike. “Unhand me if you please, Lord Mayhew.”
“There’sa good girl.”
He lowered his gaze to her décolletage and his eyes flared with lust. Jemima lifted her hand to cover her neckline, and he let out a huff of derision.
“Don’t play the coquette withme,” he said. “You earned your keep spreading your legs for my father. You can hardly admonish me for wanting to inspect the goods, given the price he paid.”
He reached forward and placed his hand on her throat. Then he curled his finger around her necklace and pain sliced through the back of her neck as he gave a sharp tug. Her necklace broke and pearls clattered onto the floor.
“Stop!” she cried. “That’s my necklace.”
“Bought and paid for withmymoney,” he sneered. “Just like your body.”
She shuddered as he dipped a finger below her neckline, brushing his fingertip across the top of her breasts. His eyes darkened with fury as his gaze fell on her left hand. He took her wrist, then grasped the ring on her third finger and pulled it off.
“Old fool!” he muttered. “Did he really think he could give my mother’s ring to a slut? Do you have any idea how much it’s worth?” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Nobody’sthat good at riding cock, surely?”
Jemima cringed at the hatred in his voice.
“Please,” she said, “Ralph…I mean, Earl—”
“Spare me the mewling!” He gestured about the parlor. “This ismyhouse. You took advantage of my father by parting those fat thighs of yours. But the day of reckoning has come, and it’s time for you to go.”
A sharp pain stabbed at Jemima’s stomach and she caught her breath. “Please…”
“Now, now—no histrionics,” he said. Then he arched an eyebrow, his gaze settling once more on her neckline. “Unless…”
