Page 25 of Love Abandoned

His cheeks burned, and she laughed and poured herself a drink.Hell and the devil. He’d not thought this through.

“Are you looking for more exotic pleasures?” Mrs. Tate eyed him over her drink. “More than one girl? Some toys?”

“One would be sufficient,” he managed to say, rejecting the images she was painting and pulling himself together. “Preferably a redhead. Voluptuous, not rail thin.” He tried to recall any other attributes to narrow the field to Patricia. “Oh, lightly freckled is fine but not too freckled. I prefer pale skin.” It was absolute poppycock. He had nothing against freckles, but he knew they were a common feature among redheads, and Patricia only had a smattering of them across her nose.

She looked at him quizzically, but if she speculated about his specificity, she didn’t say. “Let me see what I can do.” She took her port with her as she left.

Richard took a sip from the plain cut-glass tumbler, surprised at the quality of the drink. It was far superior to the decor. Again, he wondered how Patricia had managed to sink so low. He knew she’d been supplied by a brothel the night he’d met her, but it was not something he’d dwelled upon at the time. He’d never even asked her about it. Or about her life at all. He’d set her up, and that was that. The discourteousness of his actions lumped into a guilty ball in his gut.

Mrs. Tate stepped back into the room with two footmen. “Lord Thornwood. One or all. Your choice.”

She clapped her hands, and the two men walked across the room and pulled back a drape on the far wall, revealing another entrance to the room. He made a quick mental note of its existence as one of the servants opened the door and a statuesque redhead stepped into view. Draped in a white cloth, she stood like Venus, her smile sensual and enticing. He shook his head, feeling oddly remorseful for her disappointment. He’d not come here to offend anyone. More, he’d not come here to gawk at women, although he needed to pretend he was doing so.

Another took her place. Small and waiflike, he hoped she was not as young as she looked. She looked no older than sixteen years and, definitely, could not have been long out of the schoolroom. He shook his head both in refusal and at his speculations. These women had never been inside a schoolroom. If they had, they’d not have landed in such a situation. Where were the men in their lives? Their fathers? Their brothers? Why had he never considered their unfortunate circumstances before? He’d never set foot in a brothel until this evening. He thought of Elizabeth and her orphanage. There were so many in need.

Mrs. Tate cleared her throat loudly, regaining Richard’s attention. “I have but one redhead left. Saved the best for last,” she said, clapping again.

Patricia stepped into the entrance, and Richard swallowed what would have been an audible sigh of relief. Her red hair cascaded over her shoulders, but it did nothing to hide her body. She stood rod stiff, staring straight ahead. Her frock was sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination, but it was not her body drawing his attention. It was her bland expression and the lack of recognition in her eyes.

“Yes,” he said but did not take his eyes off her. If she was glad of his choice, she gave no indication.

“Patricia,” Mrs. Tate snapped. “Some manners, if you please.” Patricia didn’t move. “You may entertainLordThornwood in the blue room.”

Patricia turned and walked away. Richard jumped to his feet and followed. “That woman is going to get what’s coming to her one—” was all he caught of Mrs. Tate’s angry rant before the door closed behind him.

*

The blue roomwas aptly named. It contained every shade of blue known to man with no consideration for respite from the color. Richard turned and closed the door, seeking to lock it, but there was nothing with which to do so. He turned around as Patricia threw herself on the bed. She lay faceup, her arm covering her face, and her shoulders shook.

“Did you see her face?” she said, and Richard was relieved to hear the laughter in her voice, not the anguish he’d expected. “Old battle-ax thinks she runs me. Me!” Patricia sat up and patted the bed. “Oh, do come sit with me, Thornwood. I’ll not bite. Not unless you want me to,” she said slyly, laughter still twinkling in her eyes.

“I believe I’ll stand, thank you,” he said, focusing on her face and not her body. A body he had once had great familiarity with but that no longer held any appeal. Not because she was not beautiful. The quick glimpse through the sheer fabric had proven she’d retained all her charms. But his only interest here was the information she purportedly had for him.

She waved a hand, a flare of impatience darkening her eyes before she tamed her expression. “Suit yourself, but your legs may tire.”

“I’ll be but a minute. Give me what I’ve come for, and I’ll be on my way.”

Patricia put a finger to lips. “The walls have ears sometimes,” she said, lowering her voice. “You must stay awhile. Otherwise, it will look suspicious. I cannot raise any alarms.”

He’d not considered lingering. He’d intended to be in and out as quickly as possible.

“Besides, they’d think you a young buck with no control. To shoot your bolt and leave would not do for your manly reputation, now would it?”

Richard flinched at her implied vulgarity. Patricia had always been free in her speech but never crass. The ten years had definitely wrought some changes in her. But she was right. He must act the part of a man in need. He grabbed the single chair by the fireplace, moved it closer to the bed, and sat.

“Coward,” she said, but she smiled, and he saw the old Patricia despite the creases beginning to line her face and the smudges of blue-black under her eyes. She looked weary.

“May I ask how you became part of—”

She put a finger to her lips again and scowled. He raised his brow at her audacity. Did she take him for a fool who would say it aloud?

“This latest endeavor,” he finished, crossing his arms and giving a stare for a stare.

“No, you may not,” she said with quiet confidence. “It would not be safe for either one of us.”

He waved a hand around the room. “And this? May I ask how you came to be here?”

She shrugged a shoulder, and again, he caught a glimpse of the Patricia he once knew. Timid and sure, cocky and tentative. She’d always presented an alluring dichotomy. “A girl’s gotta eat,” she said. “I’ve only had one generous protector in my life.”

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