Page 9 of Doxy for the Ton
“Never you worry, though,” the doxy continued. “I set him straight. Offered to clean you up meself, seein’ as nobody wanted to come near enough to even poke a stick at you.”
She grinned, then a flash of recognition caught him—that same face, her brow wrinkled with concern, soft lips parting as she murmured words of comfort while she bathed his body and bandaged his leg…
“My leg.” He shifted position on the bed and groaned as the pain in his left leg flared.
“I changed your bandage,” she said. “Nasty wound. How did you come by it?”
“You wouldn’t want to know.”
“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked. You’re a bigger fool than I took you for.”
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“That leg’s in danger of goin’ putrid. It’s all the same to me if you lose the leg, but I imagineyou’dmiss it.”
“I care not,” he said, sinking back. “It’s just a leg—there are worse things to lose.”
Anger flared in her eyes. “Says one who’s never known loss. Men like you are all the same.”
It ought to have been laughable that she—a street whore—held him in contempt, but she spoke with a fierce conviction, and an undercurrent of deep loss.
“Only when you’ve lost something do you truly come to appreciate it,” she said. “But then it’s too late.”
“What did you lose…Mimi?”
She flinched and looked away. “Nothin’you’dcare for. And I don’t mean to lose anything tonight. I’ll want payin’.”
“What for?” he asked.
“For bringing you home.”
“That’s not your business.”
“For cleaning you up, then.”
“That’s not your business either.”
“Then what?” she asked.
He shrugged, affecting nonchalance as his manhood surged with want. “I’m sure you’ll think of some way to earn your coin.”
“I could just take it,” she said.
“Then why don’t you?”
“Because I’m not a thief.”
“No,” he said, “you’re a whore.”
Her expression hardened. “That I am,” she said. “But I’ll want paying up front. I know what your sort are like.”
He let out a laugh. “My sort? Since when does a whore lecture a duke on honor?”
“Honor!” she scoffed. “A word used by men of your rank to excuse petty vengeance on those they believe to have done them wrong. I’m talking about honesty, sir, not honor.”
Her voice had changed again—the harsh tones of the street whore replaced by the clear notes of another creature altogether—almost as if she were a lady.
Then he shook his head. The liquor must have addled his wits.
