Page 49 of Wake Me Most Wickedly
Two hours after his meeting with Hannah, hard, icy sleet pelted Sol’s hat and overcoat as he hurried northward. The drop-off had been a success, the man accepting the papers with a polite “thank you” and friendly conversation afterward. No one had bothered him on the docks in any way. Actually, the workers barely even noticed him.
All and all, it was a success.
The sky darkened further as dusk began to set in. Sol wove through the thinning crowds, the faces of the remaining laborers and merchants more determined than earlier. Everyone, it seemed, was trying to rush home to a blazing fire and a meal. Like him. All he had to do now was get himself north and west—toward a nice warm bath.
Oy, he could use one. Despite the cold air, he was shvitzing. Soaking his legs and back would be quite welcome. However… he bit his lip as another image came into his head. An even more pleasing, and definitely more erotic, one.
Could his tub fit two? Perhaps if Hannah straddled him? Sol’s lip curled at the concept. Yes, Hannah straddling him was definitely what he wanted and needed. Though that was just a start.
Hopefully, their conversation earlier had if notconvinced her to give him a chance, then at least planted the seed of possibility for them. He would show her that they would suit, in more places besides his bed.
A gust of wind shuddered across a puddle, splashing mud on his boots. At least this pair was old and unpolished. All he needed to do was stay out of trouble, as he’d promised, then Lady Drucilla would accept his brother’s proposal and then… banns? He squinted, working to recall the nuances of gentile culture.
And after that… when Frederick’s future was secure, why shouldn’t he explore possibilities for his own? If certain people were amenable.
A cart rumbled past, near clipping him with its wheel. A man yelled but Sol barely registered the sound, his mind now completely focused on Hannah.
What would it take to convince her further? Arguments, obviously. That’s what their people did best. However, he’d need to properly set the stage.
Gifts were a decent lure as he’d seen with the perfume. He’d already asked Isabelle to acquire another, but perhaps he needed more. What else would she like? Something for her hair? One of those special combs Lady Drucilla had worn to her brother’s dinner? Or maybe some pins. With little jewels. Red ones.
No… dark blue. Dark blue would shine against Hannah’s hair. And while beaded hairpins weren’t practical, and she was most definitely the sort of woman who cared deeply about the practical, didn’t everyone deserve to be impractical sometimes?
Or they ought to feel allowed to be. Especially considering how hard she worked. She shouldn’t need to skulk about at night—finding “things” for god knows what sort of people.
The work was dangerous and how long could she do it while staying safe?
He yawned a little himself. It really was quite the walk, wasn’t it? His boots pinched his toes as he ducked down, winding closer between buildings as the streets grew quieter. Despite his and Hannah’s first meeting, he wasn’t a complete yutz. He’d been robbed twice as a boy on late-night wanders and had developed a fairly good technique of staying in the shadows. Even as he increased in size.
Another bellow of wind battered his jacket, and he hunched even lower as it started to drizzle. Sol darted into an alley, not the safest, but the narrow passages would keep him drier as he wound back north, and east to that right edge of Mayfair, close to their home.
The rain went from the occasional plink, plank, plunk to pellets and slashes as he sloshed onward. Dash it all, he was going to be soaked to the bone by the time he got home. He’d have a bath and a long sit by the fire. With something more interesting to read than books on business or the account ledgers.
A sneeze shook his head as he pushed forward until—crash.
He’d been knocked to the ground, flat on his arse. Rubbing his back, he squinted through what was now snowflakes raining down from the night sky.
“What do we have here?” A dark shadow towered above him. “Lost, are we?”
Blast. Not again. And practically back in his own, supposedly safe neighborhood.
“No, not at all.” Sol worked to keep his voice calm, even as he cursed in his head. “I know exactly where I’m going. It’s just a bit slippery. I apologize for theinconvenience.” He pressed down on the cold, icy stones with his bare palms—he really should’ve borrowed work gloves from a servant—and rose. “I’ll just be getting on my way and—”
“Not so fast.” A hand clamped down on his shoulder from behind.
“Really, gentlemen, I would love to stay and chat, but I should be going. And you should too. Don’t you want to stay out of the weather?” He pointed toward the sky with one hand as he reached into his jacket pocket for the knife he’d—blast it all, he’d left it at home, hadn’t he?
“Not when there’s easy money to be made and fun to be had.” A malevolent smile curled on the man’s lips as he held up a knife.
Drat. He clenched his jaw. Time to keep them distracted for as long as he could. “Shame I’m not particularly well off. Don’t even have a halfpenny on me.” He turned out his empty pockets before pulling forward the front of his frock coat, using the movement to better position his body for the possibility of either fight or flight. “And just look at these buttons? Wooden. Nothing to even melt down. I’m of no interest at all. Unless you want me to tell you a rhyme. Maybe a story. I do know a few naughty tales. Have any of you ever heard the one about the woman with twelve fingers? Well, if you have—”
The sound of gravel caught his attention, and he readied for the first punch—from neither of the two men who’d spoken, but a new opponent who’d accidentally given away his position. He ducked down and rolled to the side, dodging the blow.
Fast as he could, he skittered behind a crate, just as the third turned toward him, making his approach.
“Now, come on, there’s no need for that. After all,it’s late,” the first said, his voice crooning. “Let’s just make this nice and easy. It’ll only hurt for a moment.”
Sol peeked between the slats as he rose to his feet, back against the wall of—from the sound of it—a tavern. His eyes flickered side to side, looking for a back door, but none appeared, and when he looked back at his attackers, they’d tightened their circle around him. The silver of a knife glinted in the low light.
