of the evening,” he said, his eyes no longer making contact with Michael’s.
“A brothel?” Michael asked, a bit surprised.
“Aye,” Jeffers said with a nod. “One with beautiful women, I think. I don’t mean to gossip, but another butler says his employer swears by Lucy’s in Covent Garden. Says it’s discreet and comfortable and has the very best brandy.”
Michael had a fleeting thought that perhaps his brother was really looking for a card game, but the mention of brandy had him thinking otherwise. After a moment of consideration, he decided to join Marcus at the establishment rather than go to White’s. But, what if his brother’s real intention was to share a whore? What then?
A few years ago, he would have acquired a French letter and joined his brother at a brothel. He had no attachments. There were no expectations that he remain faithful to anyone (although Edward had mercilessly teased him about his sister, Faith).
But now? A fleeting thought of Olivia gave him pause. Michael hadn’t yet asked for her hand in marriage; he didn’t owe her fidelity. But, for some unexplainable reason, he found himself uncomfortable with the idea of bedding someone other than her. Besides, as the son of a viscount, he had no intention of fathering illegitimate children, and he certainly had no fondness for women who wore cosmetics.
Michael decided then he would simply imbibe the excellent brandy but not partake of the other pleasures that might exist at Lucy’s. Arriving a few minutes before nine o’clock, he made himself comfortable in a velvet couch in the upscale brothel’s parlor. A scantily clad harlot served him brandy and offered him her services, commenting on how he looked much like a man she had hosted just the night before.
“Oh?” Michael responded, not giving her a good deal of attention.
“Marcus, his name was,” she said with a shrug.
Michael gave her his undivided attention.
“Came to meet his brother, but when the fellow didn’t show, he met me instead.” She said this last with a teasing grin, one eyebrow arching up.
Michael stilled himself, realizing just then that he hadn’t read the date on the note from his brother. I was supposed to meet Marcus last night , he realized. Well, at least his brother hadn’t waited long.
When the girl again offered her bed, Michael politely declined, deciding he would simply finish his drink and take his leave of the place.
He glanced around the busy parlor, understanding why men looking for a tumble might favor Lucy Gibbons’ place. The lightskirts were attractive, the furnishings were luxurious, albeit a bit feminine, and the lighting was subdued enough to provide a romantic atmosphere. Although several happy harlots were wandering about, he couldn’t help but notice an unhappy young woman in the far corner. She was nursing a bruised cheek with an ice-filled glass. And when she finally noticed him staring at her and turned in his direction, she recognized him.
And Michael recognized her.
Before she could turn to leave the parlor, Michael was out of the couch and across the room, removing his topcoat before he reached her. He quickly wrapped her in it. “Miss Waterford?” he whispered as he turned her so that he could see her more clearly, hoping he had mistaken her identity.
“Mr. Cunningham,” Eloisa replied quietly, her shoulders suddenly sagging under his coat. Even in the dim light, Michael could see her bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks.
What the hell is she doing here?
He had several questions for her, but at that moment, Michael’s immediate concern was how he was going to get her out of there before she was seen by anyone. “Lucy!” he called out, turning to look for the proprietor. Several girls gasped at the loud voice that carried over the din of the busy brothel. So much for discretion. He motioned to a brunette. “Get my coat, please,” he ordered, tossing a coin in the harlot’s direction.
In a moment, the
“A brothel?” Michael asked, a bit surprised.
“Aye,” Jeffers said with a nod. “One with beautiful women, I think. I don’t mean to gossip, but another butler says his employer swears by Lucy’s in Covent Garden. Says it’s discreet and comfortable and has the very best brandy.”
Michael had a fleeting thought that perhaps his brother was really looking for a card game, but the mention of brandy had him thinking otherwise. After a moment of consideration, he decided to join Marcus at the establishment rather than go to White’s. But, what if his brother’s real intention was to share a whore? What then?
A few years ago, he would have acquired a French letter and joined his brother at a brothel. He had no attachments. There were no expectations that he remain faithful to anyone (although Edward had mercilessly teased him about his sister, Faith).
But now? A fleeting thought of Olivia gave him pause. Michael hadn’t yet asked for her hand in marriage; he didn’t owe her fidelity. But, for some unexplainable reason, he found himself uncomfortable with the idea of bedding someone other than her. Besides, as the son of a viscount, he had no intention of fathering illegitimate children, and he certainly had no fondness for women who wore cosmetics.
Michael decided then he would simply imbibe the excellent brandy but not partake of the other pleasures that might exist at Lucy’s. Arriving a few minutes before nine o’clock, he made himself comfortable in a velvet couch in the upscale brothel’s parlor. A scantily clad harlot served him brandy and offered him her services, commenting on how he looked much like a man she had hosted just the night before.
“Oh?” Michael responded, not giving her a good deal of attention.
“Marcus, his name was,” she said with a shrug.
Michael gave her his undivided attention.
“Came to meet his brother, but when the fellow didn’t show, he met me instead.” She said this last with a teasing grin, one eyebrow arching up.
Michael stilled himself, realizing just then that he hadn’t read the date on the note from his brother. I was supposed to meet Marcus last night , he realized. Well, at least his brother hadn’t waited long.
When the girl again offered her bed, Michael politely declined, deciding he would simply finish his drink and take his leave of the place.
He glanced around the busy parlor, understanding why men looking for a tumble might favor Lucy Gibbons’ place. The lightskirts were attractive, the furnishings were luxurious, albeit a bit feminine, and the lighting was subdued enough to provide a romantic atmosphere. Although several happy harlots were wandering about, he couldn’t help but notice an unhappy young woman in the far corner. She was nursing a bruised cheek with an ice-filled glass. And when she finally noticed him staring at her and turned in his direction, she recognized him.
And Michael recognized her.
Before she could turn to leave the parlor, Michael was out of the couch and across the room, removing his topcoat before he reached her. He quickly wrapped her in it. “Miss Waterford?” he whispered as he turned her so that he could see her more clearly, hoping he had mistaken her identity.
“Mr. Cunningham,” Eloisa replied quietly, her shoulders suddenly sagging under his coat. Even in the dim light, Michael could see her bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks.
What the hell is she doing here?
He had several questions for her, but at that moment, Michael’s immediate concern was how he was going to get her out of there before she was seen by anyone. “Lucy!” he called out, turning to look for the proprietor. Several girls gasped at the loud voice that carried over the din of the busy brothel. So much for discretion. He motioned to a brunette. “Get my coat, please,” he ordered, tossing a coin in the harlot’s direction.
In a moment, the
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