Page 8 of Doxy for the Ton
He opened his eyes again, to see a painted face leaning over him, powder-white skin and scarlet lips, surrounded by a cascade of gaudy red curls.
“Who the devil areyou?” he asked.
Her mouth curled into a grin. “A fine question to ask, considering the state you was in when I—”
She broke off as he grasped her wrist. “I take it you’re a whore,” he said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing in my house?”
Her eyes narrowed in pain, and he released her. She withdrew her wrist, and her smile broadened.
“Mimi La Fleur,” she said.
“What kind of name isthat?”
“A whore’s name,” she retorted, wrinkling her nose. “At least you don’t stink no more.”
“What are you talking about?”
She let out a chuckle. “You don’t remember? Hardly surprising, given how drunk you were.”
He sat up, his head throbbing, to get a better look at her.
Despite the gaudy wig and overly made-up face, she was comely enough. His gaze wandered over her body, taking in the flare of her hips, the dip at the waist, and the swell of her breasts. What pleasures could be found beneath the thin material of her gown?
She approached the fireplace, moving with the loose-hipped gait of a woman born for seduction, then tossed another log onto the fire. Alexander’s cock stiffened at the sight of her derriere as she bent over to poke the fire.
“Did you remove my clothes?” he asked.
She turned, still holding the poker. “You didn’t want your bed stinking of shit, did you?”
“That’s a filthy mouth you’ve got there,” he said.
“Not as filthy as your clothes. Only your necktie emerged unsoiled.”
Then he recalled it—the stench of the ditch in the center of the road, the ditch that moved toward him at speed as he tumbled to the ground, reached out with his hands, and…
Bloody hell!
He lifted his hands, beset by the memory of his fingers covered in a thick layer of evil-smelling slime. But they were clean.
Tentatively, he lifted his fingers to his nose and sniffed.
She set the poker beside the fire. “Your butler’s a weak-bellied one, ain’t he?”
“What?”
She gestured to his hands. “He wouldn’t touch you—ha! Wouldn’t let me in at first, even when he saw you—but the stench of shit will always level folk who think they’re too good for the likes of me.”
Infuriating creature! Why did she talk in riddles?
“Whatareyou talking about?” he demanded. “And how did you get here?”
“Same way as you,Your Grace,” she said, a flicker of contempt in her voice. “In a hackney. The driver wouldn’t take you at first, but your coin soon persuaded him—and you talk too much when you’re drunk. Wasn’t too difficult to get the direction out of you. Duke of Sawbridge, eh? What the bleedin’ hell was adukedoin’ in that part of town?”
“Minding my own business.”
“It’smybusiness now,” she said. “Thought you’d soiled yourself, your butler did.”
Dear Lord—Gillingham was stuffy enough at the best of times, always admonishing him over some transgression or other. Alexander only kept the old goat on because he’d served the Sawbridge family almost all his life.
