The Copper and the Madam by Karyn Gerrard

and the prossie’s disappearance would not be dismissed,
especially after what happened at The Blind Cupid five years
before. He’d been effectively banned from other well-known
establishments. However, some poor alley rat would not be missed
for ages, if at all. Yet, he’d picked Gordon. Had Southen known the
lad was hers?
    “Take Johnston and Smith and get them started
on the gambling hells. Then pack a bag and come to The Blind Cupid.
We’re staying the night.”
    Cian’s thick eyebrows rose in question. “Oh,
aye?”
    “Aye. I’ll not hear a word on my sleeping
arrangements either. My business.”
    A sly smile curved about Cian’s lips. “Aye,
Sergeant.”
    Cian moved away toward two constables they
trusted. Rory glanced at the window outside. The sun had begun its
slow descent between the buildings. A stab of worry curled his
guts. No evidence existed to link the earl to any of this.
Speculation, coincidence, and conjecture. He could be chasing the
wrong man. If it weren’t for the name “Rea” carved into Gordon’s
side, he never would have gone down this road. It was almost as if
the murderer left a calling card. Why? Rory knew why. The same
reason Jack the Ripper sent letters and other grisly mementos. Ego.
A sense of empowerment and righteous conviction in their
actions.
    Rory grabbed his case and headed for the
door. No one would hurt Rhiannon. He would guard and protect her
until he breathed his last.
     
    ***
     
    Rea paced her bedroom. No man had been in her
private haven before. A small fire crackled in the marble
fireplace. Her cozy room became her place of escape from the life
below stairs. Here she could pretend she was not Abbess Rea, madam
of The Blind Cupid. Rea, the peddler of vice and flesh.
    A light knock at the door interrupted her
thoughts. Caroline opened it, and there behind her loomed Rory. He
held his case in one hand and his hat in the other. Rory stepped in
the room, and faced Caroline.
    “My man will be arriving shortly. Detective
Cian O’Connor. Will you see him settled downstairs?”
    “Yes, Sergeant.”
    Caroline backed out of the room, and with a
soft snick, closed the door behind her. Rory dropped his bag and
tossed his hat on the chair by the fire. He opened his arms, and
Rea ran to him. He folded her into his embrace, his nose nuzzling
the top of her head.
    “Dare I hope you will be forgoing the wigs in
future?” he teased.
    “No, at least not while I am working
downstairs. But for you—yes.”
    Rory pulled back and ran his fingers through
her hair. “So soft and beautiful. I love this shade.”
    Rea smiled at his complimentary words. She
stepped back.
    “Would you like something to eat, or drink? I
do have whiskey in the decanter if you wish.”
    “No, love. I don’t often drink. Sometimes go
a week or more without one. Eat? I am tempted to make a naughty
suggestion, but for now, I will settle for a sandwich or soup. I’ve
had no supper.”
    Rea pressed the buzzer on her wall, then
reached up to remove Rory’s coat. She laid it over her arm and then
picked up his hat and motioned to the chair.
    “Have a seat, Rory. Relax.”
    “God above, I could get used to this,” he
murmured as he lowered himself in the chair.
    So could she. The domestic intimacy caused
tears to cluster on her lashes. She blinked them back. She had shed
more tears the last couple of days than the previous twenty years.
Rory opened such a river of vulnerable emotions that the dam on
them would never close again.
    Rory grasped his hands around her waist. The
heat from his touch seared her skin through the flimsy blue
nightdress and matching dressing gown. She squealed as he pulled
her down on his lap. He nuzzled her neck, laying feather light
kisses along her jaw line. His attentions made her insides scorch
and melt.
    He cupped her breast with his large,
masculine hand, his thumb stroking her erect nipple.
    “Bloody hell, I ache for you….”
    Another knock at the door. Rea rolled