The Raven Prince by Elizabeth Hoyt Page B

gentlemen. I don’t think they knew I’d overheard.”
    “I don’t guess not,” Pearl agreed. “Why, Aphrodite’s Grotto is a real high-priced bawdy house. The girls who work there have it soft, that’s for sure. ’Course, I’ve heard that some high-class ladies go there with their faces hidden by a mask to pretend to be what I am.”
    Anna’s eyes widened. “You mean . . . ?”
    “They take whatever gent that catches their fancy in the room below and spends the night with them.” Pearl nodded matter-of-factly. “Or however long they want. Some even take a room and instruct the madam to send up a man of a certain description. Maybe a short, blond fellow or a tall, red-headed one.”
    “It sounds a bit like picking a horse.” Anna wrinkled her nose.
    Pearl gave the first smile Anna had seen. “That’s clever, ma’am. Like picking a stud.” She laughed. “I wouldn’t mind being the one that does the choosing for once, instead of the gents always getting to do the deciding.”
    Anna smiled a little uncomfortably at this reminder of the realities of Pearl’s profession. “But why would a gentleman submit to such an arrangement?”
    “The gents like it because they know they’re getting to spend the night with a real lady.” The other woman shrugged. “If you can call her a lady.”
    Anna blinked and then shook herself. “I’m keeping you from your rest. I’d better go see about my own supper.”
    “All right, then.” Pearl yawned. “Thank you again.”
    All through supper that evening, Anna was distracted. Pearl’s comment that it would be nice to do the choosing for once kept running through her head. She poked rather absently at her meat pie. It was true, even on her level of society, that the men got to do most of the choosing. A young lady waited for a gentleman to come calling, while the gentleman was able to decide which young ladies to court. Once married, a respectable woman waited dutifully for her husband in the marriage bed. The man made the overtures of marital relations. Or not, as the case may be. At least it had been so in Anna’s marriage. She’d certainly never let Peter know she might have needs of her own or that she might not be satisfied with what occurred in bed.
    Later that night, as Anna got ready for sleep, she couldn’t stop imagining Lord Swartingham in Aphrodite’s Grotto as Pearl had described it. The earl being sighted and chosen by some daring woman of the aristocracy. The earl spending the night in a masked lady’s arms. The thoughts made her chest hurt even as she fell asleep.
    And then she was in Aphrodite’s Grotto.
    She wore a mask and searched for the earl. Men of every description, old, young, fair, and ugly, hundreds of men, filled a hall to overflowing. Frantically, she pushed through the mass, hunting for a singular pair of black, gleaming eyes, becoming more desperate the longer her search took. Finally, she saw him across the room, and she started running toward him. But as is the way with such nightmares, the faster she tried to run, the slower she went. Each step seemed to take an eternity. As she struggled, she saw another masked woman beckon to him. Without ever having seen her, he turned away and followed the other woman from the room.
    Anna awoke in the dark, her heart pounding and her skin chilled. She lay absolutely still, remembering the dream and listening to her own roughened breathing.
    It was some time before she realized she was weeping.

    Chapter Seven

    The huge raven flew with his new wife on his back for two days and two nights until on the third day, they came to fields golden with ripened grain.
    “Who owns these fields?” Aurea asked, looking down from her perch.
    “Your husband,” the raven replied.
    They came to an endless meadow filled with fat cattle, their hides shining in the sun.
    “Who owns these cattle?” Aurea asked.
    “Your husband,” the raven replied.
    Then a vast emerald forest spread below, rolling over