Page 71 of Doxy for the Ton
“It’s not what I wish to believe,” he said. “It’s what Isaw. Why else were you creeping about the streets tonight? And I saw you yesterday, just after I left, in the same gown. Whatever part you were playing, it wasn’t Lady Rex.”
“So you thought the worst of me.”
“What am I supposed to think?”
“You could alwaysask,” she said, “but I suppose men of your rank prefer to condemn women like me. A whore can be trusted more than a duke—if we don’t keep to our word, we’ll not survive. But you…you lie to yourself each day. You convince yourself that this soulless life you lead will give you fulfilment and make you happy. But are you happy—trulyhappy?”
She stepped toward him, her eyes glowing in the firelight.
Alexander reached for the decanter.
“That won’t ease your pain,” she said.
He met her gaze, poured a third glass, then drained it.
She curled her lip in disgust. “Very well,” she said. “If you wish to end your days drunk in a ditch, I shan’t stop you.”
“Don’t be melodr—m-melodramatic,” he stammered.
She shook her head. “Perhaps I should have left you to the mercy of those men.”
He opened his mouth to ask her what men, then the memory resurfaced—two thugs brandishing knives advancing on him, a harsh female voice, followed by a male grunt of pain—then a painted face swimming into focus as he lay in the gutter, his body aching, concern in her eyes.
“Y-you said you could use your enemy’s weaknesses against him,” he said. “Is that what you were doing today?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“AmIyour enemy, Mimi?”
For a moment, she stared at him, and he held his breath, fearing her response.
Then she sighed. “No. You’re not my enemy—you never could be.” She turned her head toward the fire, which now blazed merrily. “I have not lain with another man since we met,” she said. “Today I visited”—she drew in a deep breath—“friends. Women whose need is greater than mine. You see me as a doxy who spreads her legs for cash. It’s not the cash I strive for, but the choices it gives me.”
She turned to face him, and his heart almost cracked at the expression in her eyes: dignity—more dignity than any lady in Society displayed, for it came from her soul, not her rank or fortune.
And her honesty.
Shame stabbed at his hollow heart, shriveling his pathetic soul. How could he have believed her to have broken faith? He may outrank her, but she was his superior, in every sense.
“Mimi, forgive me,” he said.
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“But what I said—”
“Was not unexpected for a man in your position.” Then she smiled. “Shall you remain here tonight?”
His manhood stirred at her invitation. The thought of taking her—of laying her down on the hearthrug and claiming her in front of the fire—was almost too much, and his hands twitched with the need to be buried in her hair as he buried himself into her willing body.
But her willingness was bought and paid for—not given freely. He wanted her consent, free from the promise of cash—and he wanted her pleasure.
“I should go,” he said.
Her smile slipped.
“You’ll still get your money, Mimi,” he said. “All two thousand—no matter what happens. But you must answer me truthfully.”
“What do you want to ask me?”
