Chapter One
London, 1762
The madam of an infamous brothel has to handle many types of difficult men, Coral Smythe reflected. Drunken lords, arrogant merchants, callow youths
teetering on the crumbling edges of their own personal disasters, and just too many men with more money than sense in their pockets. But few men were
as irritating, provoking, vexing, or aggravating as a puritanical naval captain.
An attractive puritanical naval captain.
Coral touched the gold mask covering her face with one finger, checking as she always did that it was in position. Thus satisfied, she descended the
staircase into the gilded hel hole that was Aphrodite’s Grotto. Business was brisk tonight. The curving grand staircase spil ed into the main hal . At the far
end were the great double front doors to the Grotto, overhead Aphrodite herself frolicked in painted pink clouds, surrounded by her well-endowed mythical
lovers, and below…
Wel below was bedlam of course.
Ladies—some of the evening, some quite real swanned about in demimasks, their faces much more decorously covered than their bodies. Gentlemen
–one used the term loosely here – strutted and shouted and fel over themselves in drunken revelry.
Coral lifted her upper lip beneath the mask. Easy marks, every one of them. Al these men just waiting to lose their money. And for what? A handful of soft
breast? A warm wet mouth sucking on their cock?
Foolish, ephemeral pleasure that disappeared with the light of the next morning. Men were such idiots, so alike in their base desires and loud demands.
Dukes or coal merchants, they threw back their sweaty heads and laughed at Aphrodite, smiling down from her clouds.
Al except that one puritanical naval captain.
Captain Isaac Wargate stood like a gloomy black rook of doom at the side of the hal . He still wore his long naval cape, despite the heat in the crowded
hal , and held his crocked hat propped under one arm. He surveyed the room expressionlessly, the Coral knew there was disapproval i n the hawk-like
eyes that peered beneath heavy black eyebrows.
Irritating man.
She sauntered toward him, aware somehow that he knew of her presence, though he didn’t deign to look her way. She could study him thus – his nose
large in profile, his ful lips compressed just slightly, his dark hair pul ed back into a tightly braided queue, the lines about his mouth deep and cynical ---
she could feel and acknowledge that traitorous bit of heat that pooled low in her bel y every time she saw him. Damn him .
“Goodness Captain, we haven’t seen you here for half a year or more.”
She cal ed sweetly when she was within a few feet of him. “Have you found a lady bird for the evening?”
“You know I don’t sample these wares, madam” he growled in reply. He didn’t bother looking at her, despite the low cut o f her glittering black-and-gold
dress. Her nipples were rouged tonight and peeked from the top of the square-cut bodice, a startling crimson contrast to the black material and her own
white skin. She had the eyes of every other man in the room. But not his.
Which only irked her more.
Beneath her mask she smiled and infused contrition into her voice.
“Oh, of course. How sil y of me to have forgotten.” She leaned closer to him, his broad, cloaked shoulders a t the height o f he r forehead, and said
conspiratorial y, “You do know I can supply boys as wel , don’t you?”
He turned then, his dark blue eyes hitting her like a physical blow.
“I’m not interested in the trade of any human flesh, ma’am.”
“Then one wonders what you’re doing in a brothel.”
“I’m only here to round up my junior officers,” he said shortly. He nodded to a bantam man across the room−one of his sailors. “As you very wel know.”
“Mm, I’m probably alerted before your admiral when the Challenger docks. Al those lovely officers in their pretty uniforms come streaming off your ship
and in my doors.”
She
London, 1762
The madam of an infamous brothel has to handle many types of difficult men, Coral Smythe reflected. Drunken lords, arrogant merchants, callow youths
teetering on the crumbling edges of their own personal disasters, and just too many men with more money than sense in their pockets. But few men were
as irritating, provoking, vexing, or aggravating as a puritanical naval captain.
An attractive puritanical naval captain.
Coral touched the gold mask covering her face with one finger, checking as she always did that it was in position. Thus satisfied, she descended the
staircase into the gilded hel hole that was Aphrodite’s Grotto. Business was brisk tonight. The curving grand staircase spil ed into the main hal . At the far
end were the great double front doors to the Grotto, overhead Aphrodite herself frolicked in painted pink clouds, surrounded by her well-endowed mythical
lovers, and below…
Wel below was bedlam of course.
Ladies—some of the evening, some quite real swanned about in demimasks, their faces much more decorously covered than their bodies. Gentlemen
–one used the term loosely here – strutted and shouted and fel over themselves in drunken revelry.
Coral lifted her upper lip beneath the mask. Easy marks, every one of them. Al these men just waiting to lose their money. And for what? A handful of soft
breast? A warm wet mouth sucking on their cock?
Foolish, ephemeral pleasure that disappeared with the light of the next morning. Men were such idiots, so alike in their base desires and loud demands.
Dukes or coal merchants, they threw back their sweaty heads and laughed at Aphrodite, smiling down from her clouds.
Al except that one puritanical naval captain.
Captain Isaac Wargate stood like a gloomy black rook of doom at the side of the hal . He still wore his long naval cape, despite the heat in the crowded
hal , and held his crocked hat propped under one arm. He surveyed the room expressionlessly, the Coral knew there was disapproval i n the hawk-like
eyes that peered beneath heavy black eyebrows.
Irritating man.
She sauntered toward him, aware somehow that he knew of her presence, though he didn’t deign to look her way. She could study him thus – his nose
large in profile, his ful lips compressed just slightly, his dark hair pul ed back into a tightly braided queue, the lines about his mouth deep and cynical ---
she could feel and acknowledge that traitorous bit of heat that pooled low in her bel y every time she saw him. Damn him .
“Goodness Captain, we haven’t seen you here for half a year or more.”
She cal ed sweetly when she was within a few feet of him. “Have you found a lady bird for the evening?”
“You know I don’t sample these wares, madam” he growled in reply. He didn’t bother looking at her, despite the low cut o f her glittering black-and-gold
dress. Her nipples were rouged tonight and peeked from the top of the square-cut bodice, a startling crimson contrast to the black material and her own
white skin. She had the eyes of every other man in the room. But not his.
Which only irked her more.
Beneath her mask she smiled and infused contrition into her voice.
“Oh, of course. How sil y of me to have forgotten.” She leaned closer to him, his broad, cloaked shoulders a t the height o f he r forehead, and said
conspiratorial y, “You do know I can supply boys as wel , don’t you?”
He turned then, his dark blue eyes hitting her like a physical blow.
“I’m not interested in the trade of any human flesh, ma’am.”
“Then one wonders what you’re doing in a brothel.”
“I’m only here to round up my junior officers,” he said shortly. He nodded to a bantam man across the room−one of his sailors. “As you very wel know.”
“Mm, I’m probably alerted before your admiral when the Challenger docks. Al those lovely officers in their pretty uniforms come streaming off your ship
and in my doors.”
She
Similar Books
