He ran his fingers farther along the wall and withdrew the second sheet. He patted the crisp paper back into place as best he could, moved the table back, and returned to Patricia’s side, the documents safely tucked in his pocket. He pulled a chair nearer the bed.
“I’d know who did this,” he said gently, although anger burned through his veins. What kind of man laid hands on a woman who offered only pleasure?
“Mrs. Tate thinks I’m holding back coin, that men are paying me personally for extra favors. Thatyouare giving me money on the side,” she said, not bothering to sit up. “Refuses to give me my part of the fees. Says it’s for my room and food. She searched every room I’ve done business in. Tore this one apart.”
Richard ran a hand through his hair. This was not a world he knew. Nor did he want to. But here he was, and he hadn’t a clue what to do about it.
“Luckily, I had no secrets yesterday. And your extra money is where no one will get it. The old bat is not going to outsmart me,” she said, wincing when she smiled.
“I’ll have her before the magistrate,” he said, his anger firing at the sight of her pain.
Patricia touched his arm. “On what charges? Providing room and board? Beating a whore? Thornwood,” she continued when he was about to protest, “you are not unaware of the reality of this life I lead. The law does not care about women like me. I will finish with Mrs. Tate my way.”
She was right. He had no solution to offer. He went to grab the money for her, and she stayed his hand with hers.
“No. One of her men waits to search the room after each customer. I cannot hide it, and it will prove her suspicions. Keep it. Or do some good with it to ease that overburdened conscience of yours.”
He left her and headed straight down the corridor to Mrs. Tate’s office, where he usually paid his debt. She looked up at him when he walked in without being announced. “You were exceptionally quick—”
“You touch her again, and I will have this place shut down,” he said, his voice cold as frost.
Mrs. Tate sat back in her chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, looking genuinely surprised. “It is a drawback of the trade, I’m afraid. Not all visitors are gentlemen.” She tilted her head. “I did not touch a hair on the woman’s head.”
Richard was at a loss for words. Which woman was lying? “You are withholding her coin,” he said, looking for confirmation of Patricia’s side of the story.
“Is that what she told you?” Her laugh tinkled musically in stark contrast to his dark mood. “I house and feed all the girls in this establishment. I clothe them. I keep them off the streets. It costs money. Sometimes there’s a little left over. Sometimes there’s not.” She shrugged and shoved his bill toward the ink, holding out a quill.
He ignored the quill, refusing to put his name in writing, and dug in his purse for the fee. Anger percolated through his body, but he was unable to discern the truth in what had happened. To what end would Patricia lie about who beat her?
“I did try to steer you toward someone else, Lord Thornwood. The woman is nothing but trouble. Next time, you may want to take my advice.”
He turned on his heel and left. Next time. He looked at the shadowed doorways across the street, hoping the agents were doing their jobs and there would be no damned next time.