Page 7 of Only Pleasure Will Do

Chapter 2

Why was a Bow Street Runner—no, what had she heard last month?—a magistrate here in her prison? Praying she’d not killed the man, Amorina hastily laid her hand on his neck. The strong beat of his blood beneath her fingers sent a wave of relief through her. Thank God. Not only because she’d swing for such a killing, but because she’d have hated to end the life of such a handsome man.

Seldom had she stopped to consider the attractiveness of her house’s patrons. Customers were valued for their ability to pay, no more. Of course, she and her girls sought to mask that rather cold fact by endeavoring to make them believe their other attributes were of more interest than their ready coins. Such was the deception of pleasure.

Mr. Matthews, however, was different. At least to her.

She dropped onto the floor then lifted his head into her lap, turning it this way and that to assess any damage. The warmth of his skin, the silky texture of his hair stirred a hunger deep inside. Amorina closed her eyes and swore under her breath. She’d been wrong to touch this man so intimately. Although long ago, she vividly recalled the rush of emotion she’d felt for the Marquess of Dalbury. Remembered too how addled-pated she’d been in her infatuation. These twinges of lust for Mr. Matthews were a warning. She couldn’t make that mistake again, not now when she needed her wits about her.

Gently, she lifted his head again, carefully laid it on the floor and stood, unsure how to help him. Perhaps removing him to her bed would be best. The only soft surface in her prison, the bed would at least ease him until he regained consciousness.

Grasping his shoulders once more, Amorina dragged his big body around the table and into the other room. His cloak assisted her, acting almost as a sling that slid handily across the dirt floor. Hoisting him up onto the bed was trickier, although much practice had rendered her adept at leverage and winching. She situated him on the bed, his head on the hard lump she deemed a pillow, and settled the thin, rough blanket over him.

Sudden unease caused her to feel for a pulse again. Surely he should have woken up by now. Had she truly hit him that hard? Perhaps he’d come around if she bathed his face. Due to the nature of her business, she’d had to learn a host of remedies for bruises, cuts, and all manner of minor ills that might befall her girls or her patrons.

After tearing a strip from her chemise, she went back into the other room for the bucket of water and returned. In the faint light, she couldn’t tell if he’d moved. Fortunately, his breathing was slow and regular, so she tried to relax and sat beside the low cot. She dipped the strip of linen into the small amount of tepid water, wrung it out then plied it to Mr. Matthews’s temples. Colder water might’ve been more efficacious, but she’d have to make do. He was lucky she had any water left at all. The half bucket allowed her each morning served for both her drinking and washing water for the day.

Trying different points on his face, she moved the wet rag from his temples to forehead, from forehead to cheeks, from cheeks to neck. Light had begun to filter in from the high windows, revealing the handsome features of the man now occupying her bed. She remembered them well.

Dark blond hair pulled back into a severe queue. A broad brow with thick golden eyebrows. When last they’d met, he’d raised those brows quite high. Her gaze strayed down the rough cover to the unmistakable outline of his hips and groin. Other things had risen that day as well, if she remembered correctly. Closing her eyes, she recalled the fleeting desire she’d witnessed in his clear blue eyes and her pulse beat more strongly. She’d hoped then that he’d return to the House of Pleasure, but she’d not seen him since that day over a year ago. Apparently, if he took his pleasures, it was done elsewhere. More’s the pity. He was one of very few men she’d have welcomed into her bed.

Again, she dipped the rag into the water and bathed his strong jaw and chin, bristly with his faint night beard. With hesitant fingers, she pushed the elegant gray coat aside and unbuttoned his gray and gold waistcoat then unknotted his simply tied cravat. She slipped it from around his neck then slid the damp cloth down his front, into the V created by his loose shirt, revealing his broad chest. Now barely cool, the cloth quickly absorbed his heat, sending a warmth into Amorina’s hand that filled her with an unfamiliar longing. She removed the cloth and stretched her fingers over his chest, thrilled at the feel of his smooth skin on her heated palm.

His eyes opened so suddenly Amorina gasped and snatched her hand back. She rocked back on her heels and tipped over into the dirt.

He bolted up in the bed, arms raised to fend off attackers, gazing wildly around the small room as though readying for the next battle. “Who’s there?”

“It is Amorina Vestry, Mr. Matthews.” She slowly got to her feet, careful to keep her voice emotionless. “We met some time ago, if you recall.”

Bouncing out of the bed, he came to his feet, his head still turning, searching for danger. “Madam Vestry. Thank goodness I’ve found you.” He raised his hand to the back of his head and winced. “Who the devil hit me?”

“I’m afraid I did, Mr. Matthews. I beg your pardon. Sir Reginald, I believe, is correct now. May I congratulate you on your good fortune?” Smiling, she urged him to sit once more. Broken heads were rather chancy. She didn’t want him to keel over again. “Do sit down. I am sorry to have been the one to incapacitate you. Had I known it was you, I would never have done so, of course.”

“Indeed.” He sat then leaned back against the wall and his shoulders slumped. “I must commend you. Your aim was most accurate. My head feels as though a horse kicked me.”

“I’ll fetch the cup. Water may not help, but it’s all I have to offer.” She sped into the other room, grabbed the cup, and sent a swift prayer to whatever God there might be to spare the man. After dipping a cupful of lukewarm water from the bucket, she returned to the bed and held it to his lips.

He took it from her, a wary look filling his eyes, and sipped tentatively. After a moment, perhaps deciding the water intended to stay down, he drank again, thirstily.

“What brings you here, Sir Reginald?” Curiosity could not be contained any longer. Had he, for some reason, had a hand in her kidnapping? A farfetched idea, but stranger things had happened in her life.

“I was contacted several days ago by one of your girls at the House of Pleasure—Jenny, I believe?” He handed back the cup then slowly massaged his temples. “She said you’d been gone more than four weeks. They’d expected you back after two, some business you attend to each spring?” Raising his eyebrows, he shot her a questioning look.

Amorina sighed and nodded.

“When you didn’t put in an appearance within a reasonable time, she contacted me. Said she was following your instructions.”

“That is correct.” Avoiding his gaze, Amorina eased down onto the cot beside him. “I’d given instructions that if anything ever befell me, if I disappeared or was being held for ransom, or anything out of the ordinary, she was to contact you at Bow Street.” Always one to follow directions to the letter, Jenny had done as asked. Amorina only hoped she didn’t live to regret it. “Thank you for granting my request.”

“I owed you a debt, Madam Vestry, nothing more.”

“A debt?”

“Last summer you aided my kinswoman, the Marchioness of Dalbury, at the risk of your own life, I’m certain. You also gave succor to her sister-in-law at Christmas, I’m told.” He sketched a bow from his waist then winced. “My family is more than indebted to you. As soon as Jenny told me you were overdue, I began to search for you.”

“I pray my request has not endangered you in any way.”

Sir Reginald grunted and rubbed the back of his head again. “Not until now, it seems. Why did you hit me?”