Page 18 of Their Master

You didn’t get bored with Jojo.

I didn’t have enoughtimeto get bored, Smith retorted.

Besides, he would do things differently with Moira; he’d not make the same mistake he’d made with Jojo. He’dtakethe time to work her out of his system, and then he would move on.

Smith smiled, a sudden spring in his step.

Even though the heavens had opened and he couldn’t see more than a foot in front of him, things suddenly seemed brighter.

He would go to Bernina’s and commence gorging that very evening.

Chapter 6

Moira stared at the message the footman had just delivered:

Mr. Smith has engaged you for the entire night. Please present yourself for a full grooming, douche, and lavage. The Rose Suite at nine o’clock. C.

Moira was suddenly uncomfortably hot, even though the small parlor was cool. “What time is it?” she asked her friend Nell, ashamed by the excited tremor in her voice.

Nell glanced at the watch pinned to her black uniform. “It’s a quarter past five.” She offered Moira the plate holding the scones. “Want the last one?”

“You take it, I’m full.”

Mora liked the other girl, who’d been kind to her and was a true friend, but the worshipful look in Nell’s eyes made her uncomfortable because she did not reciprocate her feelings.

“You’re not leavin’ yet, are you?” Nell asked.

“Somebody has paid for the entire night. I must go and prepare.” She didn’t like the thrill that shot directly to her sex at the thought of the client.

Nell sighed. “I should get back, too.”

Byback, Nell meant to the kitchen. Unlike Moira, Nell wasn’t a whore, but a kitchen maid.

Moira took the servant stairs down to the former dining room, which Madam Cecile, the brothel owner, had converted into a bathhouse of sorts.

Amaya, the old lady who handled the trimming, piercing, and general grooming of all the employees was busy, so Moira went to the only available bathtub and turned the handle that would fill it with deliciously hot water, thanks to the rather ugly—but magical—exposed pipes that ran from the large, ugly contraption that heated water.

Her family home in Paris was hundreds of years old and her mother refused to add modern plumbing to the building, so baths were drawn the old way: bucket by bucket.

In Moira’s opinion, running, heated water was a luxury worth almost any amount of money.

Her hands shook with anticipation as she considered Smith’s impending visit.

She’d not expected to get another chance with him, and she was determined not to waste it. Her monthly meeting with her brother Robert was in two days’ time and Moira wanted to have something good to report for a change.

Marie and her longtime lover and the father of her children—theComtede Blois—had always drummed into Moira’s head that she and her three siblings owed their mother and father their first allegiance in every situation.

But that wasn’t the real reason that Moira had agreed to come to England to capture Smith and drag him back to Paris to face charges for his crimes.

No, it was vengeance for Sandrine that had made Moira not only willing, but eager, to give up a year or more of her life.

She needed to keep Sandrine at the forefront of her mind tonight when Smith attempted to scramble her wits with sexual pleasure and hollow flattery.

Although she knew that was easier said than done.

By the time Moira had finished bathing and washing her hair, Amaya was ready for her.

The old Portuguese woman was an expert at her job and soon Moira was making her way back to her shared room, her entire body hairless and clean—both inside and out.

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