madam thought she was immune to a man's touch yet she felt the imprint of his finger on her mouth long after he withdrew it.
She watched him mount the stairs and knew a surge of hunger. Her heart hammered in her breast. She barely noticed which way he turned when he reached the landing.
He turned the brass handle and swung open the door. Except for an oil lamp flickering on the bedside table the room was dark.
Light from the gas jets in the hallway behind him made a silhouette of his imposing figure. He stood on the threshold a moment and surveyed the room, letting his eyes adjust. A movement in the center of the bed caught his eye as the whore sat up and stared back at him. She didn't say a word.
He liked her already.
He stepped inside and dropped his bag on a table just inside the doorway, nudging the door closed with the heel of his shoe. Taking off his evening jacket, he hung it carelessly over the wing of a chair and surveyed the room, giving little more than a cursory glance to the whore or the wide spindle bed.
Several braided area rugs covered the hardwood floor. French doors opened onto a small balcony with a stone balustrade. The mantel held a variety of photographs and figurines, none worthy of a second look.
The grate was cold and ashes were scattered across the apron. A scuttle of coals and kindling had been set nearby.
Milk-glass globes covered the unlighted gas jets. The wallpaper was nearly as dark as the woodwork, setting a gloomy tone. On the far side of the bed was a dressing screen. He walked over to it and moved one panel aside, revealing a wardrobe and a hip bath filled with water. He dipped his finger in-the water was not hot any longer but a few degrees better than tepid.
"I've interrupted your bath," he said, turning toward the bed.
She didn't look at him but when she shrugged the wide strap of her nightshift slipped over her shoulder. She lifted it immediately only to have it fall again. This time she let it be, bowing her head slightly so her hair fell forward, shielding her.
His smile was small, his eyes cynical. "Your display of modesty is duly noted. Affecting, but quite unnecessary." He turned away again and pointed to the bath. "Don't let me stop you. I have time."
When he didn't sense her moving behind him he added more firmly, "Go on. It won't do you any harm and it may even relax you.
The bed creaked as she crawled across its wide expanse on all fours.
He moved to the other side of the room and sat down in the wing chair, stretching his long legs. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, missing her furtive, over-the-shoulder glance but sensing it nonetheless.
"I'm not going to join you," he said tiredly. He heard her move quickly, her bare feet padding lightly on the area rug. She bumped into the screen before she moved behind it. His eyelids raised a fraction and he watched her shadowed movements through thick, dark lashes. Her nightshift was placed over the top of the dressing screen.
The wardrobe opened and he heard her sifting through the drawers. He wondered what she was looking for then he saw her pause and pin up her hair. A moment later water lapped gently against the sides of the hip bath as she stepped inside. He closed his eyes again and wished that he had not drunk quite so much.
"I was told you wouldn't talk much," he said, "but I didn't expect complete silence." No comment was forthcoming. "Suits me." He unbuttoned his vest and checked his pocket watch. The realization that it was a few minutes shy of midnight gave rise to a soft groan.
It was not his usual manner to drink before dinner or during dinner or to have more than a shot sometime after dinner. He could only guess how badly he was going to feel in the morning and yet he acknowledged that he was not numb enough now.
Behind the screen the water stirred again. He noticed the towel at the foot of the bed. Sighing, he pushed himself out of the
She watched him mount the stairs and knew a surge of hunger. Her heart hammered in her breast. She barely noticed which way he turned when he reached the landing.
He turned the brass handle and swung open the door. Except for an oil lamp flickering on the bedside table the room was dark.
Light from the gas jets in the hallway behind him made a silhouette of his imposing figure. He stood on the threshold a moment and surveyed the room, letting his eyes adjust. A movement in the center of the bed caught his eye as the whore sat up and stared back at him. She didn't say a word.
He liked her already.
He stepped inside and dropped his bag on a table just inside the doorway, nudging the door closed with the heel of his shoe. Taking off his evening jacket, he hung it carelessly over the wing of a chair and surveyed the room, giving little more than a cursory glance to the whore or the wide spindle bed.
Several braided area rugs covered the hardwood floor. French doors opened onto a small balcony with a stone balustrade. The mantel held a variety of photographs and figurines, none worthy of a second look.
The grate was cold and ashes were scattered across the apron. A scuttle of coals and kindling had been set nearby.
Milk-glass globes covered the unlighted gas jets. The wallpaper was nearly as dark as the woodwork, setting a gloomy tone. On the far side of the bed was a dressing screen. He walked over to it and moved one panel aside, revealing a wardrobe and a hip bath filled with water. He dipped his finger in-the water was not hot any longer but a few degrees better than tepid.
"I've interrupted your bath," he said, turning toward the bed.
She didn't look at him but when she shrugged the wide strap of her nightshift slipped over her shoulder. She lifted it immediately only to have it fall again. This time she let it be, bowing her head slightly so her hair fell forward, shielding her.
His smile was small, his eyes cynical. "Your display of modesty is duly noted. Affecting, but quite unnecessary." He turned away again and pointed to the bath. "Don't let me stop you. I have time."
When he didn't sense her moving behind him he added more firmly, "Go on. It won't do you any harm and it may even relax you.
The bed creaked as she crawled across its wide expanse on all fours.
He moved to the other side of the room and sat down in the wing chair, stretching his long legs. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, missing her furtive, over-the-shoulder glance but sensing it nonetheless.
"I'm not going to join you," he said tiredly. He heard her move quickly, her bare feet padding lightly on the area rug. She bumped into the screen before she moved behind it. His eyelids raised a fraction and he watched her shadowed movements through thick, dark lashes. Her nightshift was placed over the top of the dressing screen.
The wardrobe opened and he heard her sifting through the drawers. He wondered what she was looking for then he saw her pause and pin up her hair. A moment later water lapped gently against the sides of the hip bath as she stepped inside. He closed his eyes again and wished that he had not drunk quite so much.
"I was told you wouldn't talk much," he said, "but I didn't expect complete silence." No comment was forthcoming. "Suits me." He unbuttoned his vest and checked his pocket watch. The realization that it was a few minutes shy of midnight gave rise to a soft groan.
It was not his usual manner to drink before dinner or during dinner or to have more than a shot sometime after dinner. He could only guess how badly he was going to feel in the morning and yet he acknowledged that he was not numb enough now.
Behind the screen the water stirred again. He noticed the towel at the foot of the bed. Sighing, he pushed himself out of the
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