overweight madam hurried to stand next to Michael, her bright gold satin gown swishing with her movements. “Is she giving you trouble, Mr. Cunningham?” Lucy asked, her prim frown reinforcing her obvious displeasure with Eloisa. “She hasn’t even been here a day, and she’s already proving to be quite troublesome,” she murmured with a shake of her gray-haired head, her arms crossing over her ample bosom as if to reinforce her opinion.
Michael’s eyebrows cocked in surprise at the brothel owner’s comment. “No, Madame Gibbons. But it looks like someone gave her some,” Michael replied, annoyance in his voice as he waved a finger toward the bruise on Eloisa Waterford’s face. “Where did you find her?” he hissed, a flash of anger on his face.
At first indignant, Lucy increased her frown. Realizing she shouldn’t displease a man of Michael Cunningham’s position, she took a deep breath. “Well, I cannot be sure, but I believe this one came to London with the impression that she had a position as a governess, and, ... well ...”
Impression, like hell.
“Damn you, Lucy!” Michael whispered hoarsely, not wanting to create a scene in front of her girls or their customers. Like so many other young women from the country, Eloisa had obviously been lured to the brothel by false correspondence implying she had a legitimate position in a respectable household. And when she was kidnapped by a madame like Lucy, she was trapped into servitude as a prostitute. “How much will it cost me to get her out of here?” Michael asked, his anger with Lucy apparent in his eyes as well as the deep growl in his voice.
The madame’s eyes, already wide from his having cursed her, widened even more at the insult. She quickly recovered when she realized he was offering blunt, though. “A guinea will cover what she’s cost me,” Lucy said in a huff, obviously displeased that she was being held in such contempt by a man who might have become a generous and frequent customer. “I could get more but for that bruise,” she added for good measure, her plump hand waving in the direction Eloisa’s cheek.
Michael fished a guinea from his coat pocket and thrust it at the madame. She palmed it quickly and tossed her head to one side. “Get her out of here,” she ordered and turned before Michael could insult her further.
With an arm around Eloisa’s shoulders, he grabbed his great coat from the brunette who had fetched it from the coat check. As he hurried Eloisa out the door and down to his private coach, she seemed to hesitate. “My things,” he heard her say between sobs. Even as he guided her out the back door, he could feel her body cringing under his arm.
“Forget them. I’ll get you new ones,” Michael replied brusquely.
Surprised at his master’s sudden appearance, the coach driver hurried to open the door. Mr. White was even more surprised when he realized the identity of the young woman he was assisting up the steps.
Michael could tell by his shocked look that the driver recognized Eloisa from their frequent trips to the Waterford’s home. “One of Lucy Gibbons’ victims,” Michael whispered to the driver. “Your complete and utter discretion is required, Mr. White,” he said with a hint of warning in his voice. Of all his servants, he knew he could at least trust his coachman. He didn’t know yet how he would explain Eloisa to the others in the household.
“Of course, Mr. Cunningham. Where ... where should I take her?” he asked, his voice kept low despite there being no one else in the alley.
Yes, where? Michael wondered, not having thought this far ahead when he’d seen to Eloisa’s removal from the brothel. Sighing loudly, he got into the coach and said, “My townhouse, I suppose.”
Awkward couldn’t begin to describe the situation in which he suddenly found himself. Other than the family house in Mayfair, where his mother and father were probably in residence, he had no other living
Michael’s eyebrows cocked in surprise at the brothel owner’s comment. “No, Madame Gibbons. But it looks like someone gave her some,” Michael replied, annoyance in his voice as he waved a finger toward the bruise on Eloisa Waterford’s face. “Where did you find her?” he hissed, a flash of anger on his face.
At first indignant, Lucy increased her frown. Realizing she shouldn’t displease a man of Michael Cunningham’s position, she took a deep breath. “Well, I cannot be sure, but I believe this one came to London with the impression that she had a position as a governess, and, ... well ...”
Impression, like hell.
“Damn you, Lucy!” Michael whispered hoarsely, not wanting to create a scene in front of her girls or their customers. Like so many other young women from the country, Eloisa had obviously been lured to the brothel by false correspondence implying she had a legitimate position in a respectable household. And when she was kidnapped by a madame like Lucy, she was trapped into servitude as a prostitute. “How much will it cost me to get her out of here?” Michael asked, his anger with Lucy apparent in his eyes as well as the deep growl in his voice.
The madame’s eyes, already wide from his having cursed her, widened even more at the insult. She quickly recovered when she realized he was offering blunt, though. “A guinea will cover what she’s cost me,” Lucy said in a huff, obviously displeased that she was being held in such contempt by a man who might have become a generous and frequent customer. “I could get more but for that bruise,” she added for good measure, her plump hand waving in the direction Eloisa’s cheek.
Michael fished a guinea from his coat pocket and thrust it at the madame. She palmed it quickly and tossed her head to one side. “Get her out of here,” she ordered and turned before Michael could insult her further.
With an arm around Eloisa’s shoulders, he grabbed his great coat from the brunette who had fetched it from the coat check. As he hurried Eloisa out the door and down to his private coach, she seemed to hesitate. “My things,” he heard her say between sobs. Even as he guided her out the back door, he could feel her body cringing under his arm.
“Forget them. I’ll get you new ones,” Michael replied brusquely.
Surprised at his master’s sudden appearance, the coach driver hurried to open the door. Mr. White was even more surprised when he realized the identity of the young woman he was assisting up the steps.
Michael could tell by his shocked look that the driver recognized Eloisa from their frequent trips to the Waterford’s home. “One of Lucy Gibbons’ victims,” Michael whispered to the driver. “Your complete and utter discretion is required, Mr. White,” he said with a hint of warning in his voice. Of all his servants, he knew he could at least trust his coachman. He didn’t know yet how he would explain Eloisa to the others in the household.
“Of course, Mr. Cunningham. Where ... where should I take her?” he asked, his voice kept low despite there being no one else in the alley.
Yes, where? Michael wondered, not having thought this far ahead when he’d seen to Eloisa’s removal from the brothel. Sighing loudly, he got into the coach and said, “My townhouse, I suppose.”
Awkward couldn’t begin to describe the situation in which he suddenly found himself. Other than the family house in Mayfair, where his mother and father were probably in residence, he had no other living
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