Page 81 of Their Master

God help her if Marie or theComteever learned the truth.

It had been easy to conceal, all she’d needed to do was get a small amount of blood from a butcher shop.

She should have taken steps to rid herself of the child during the five or six days when she was supposed to be having her courses, but she had dithered and dithered until it wasn’t possible to do what was necessary and still recover in time for Smith’s return.

You want this baby.

Moira paused her anxious pacing and glared at her wide-eyed reflection in the looking glass; that was a lie. She didn’t want a child—she was a whore, for pity’s sake. She’d never thought to have children.

And why is that, pray?

Moira rubbed her damp palms on her dressing gown and then grimaced, glancing at the fabric. Thankfully she’d not ruined it yet with all her sweating and fussing.

It was new, delivered just that morning. A message in Smith’s bold handwriting had accompanied it:

Moira,

Wear only this and your diamonds.

S.

Thiswas a dressing gown of flowing red silk that looked like blood poured over her naked body.

It was the most seductive garment she’d ever worn—pure sin—the striking color not one she’d have believed she could wear.

And the diamonds? Well, those were fit for a queen.

Never had Moira possessed such beautiful clothing or lived such a luxurious existence. If she’d not been here under false pretenses, she would have adored the opportunity to find real tutors and learn real skills.

Instead, she spent her time associating with fakes: fake drawing masters, fake music tutors—

Fake parents.

Moira froze in mid-pace.

Why would she think such a disloyal thought? Marie and theComtehad housed and clothed her from birth, sent her to school—

Sold you into a life of prostitution.

Moira stood in the middle of her room, frozen, her heart pounding as long-ago words drifted back to her—Sandrine’s words.

“We should have been given a choice.”

Moira must have buried the memory in the back of her mind, but now it had crawled into the light.

Why now?

You know why. Because you are pregnant. Is this the life you want for your child?

The question smashed a dam Moira hadn’t even known existed and memories flooded out.

Suddenly she recalled the time she’d overheard Marie shouting and Sandrine weeping—crouched in the window seat in the library. It was their favorite room in the house where they’d all been born; a house that lived in the shadow of the most exclusive brothel in Paris.

Moira, only twelve at the time, had been surprised to find her sister at home. Sandrine had her own house by then, paid for by her powerful, wealthy, and influential patron, the Marquis de Bouvier.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Marie had shouted.

“Because I knew you’d demand that I get rid of it!” Sandrine’s face had been wet with tears; her lovely blue eyes red-rimmed.

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