Read Taste of Temptation Online
Authors: Cheryl Holt
Tags: #Romance - Historical, #American Light Romantic Fiction, #General, #Romance, #Fiction, #Fiction - Romance, #Love stories, #Romance: Historical, #Historical, #American Historical Fiction, #Regency novels, #Regency fiction
Taste of Temptation (5 page)
Jane stared and stared, and Helen could practically hear her sister’s cynical retort—they would never return to their prior status, there would never be a good marriage—but thankfully, Jane didn’t mention the depressing prospect in front of Amelia.
Helen was saved from further discussion by angry footsteps pounding up the stairs. As their landlord hammered on the door, she cringed.
“He’s been up three times,” Amelia whispered, “looking for you.”
“Did he say what he wants?”
Amelia shook her head, but Helen knew what he sought: rent money she didn’t have.
“I’ll talk to him, then I’ll be right back. Put on your bonnets, and we’ll go for a walk after I’m finished.”
She forced a smile and slipped into the hall. On seeing her, the exasperating man nearly shouted her penury to the entire building. She motioned him to silence, then proceeded to the rickety staircase and marched down. He had no choice but to follow.
As she reached the foyer, he wasted no time in getting to the point.
“Where is my money, Miss Hamilton?”
“I need a few more days, Mr. Beasley.”
“You’ve been saying that for three weeks.”
“I know, but I should land a job any minute.”
“What happened this morning? I thought you had a position starting.”
“The interview wasn’t as successful as I expected.”
“Meaning they learned you were Harry Hamilton’s daughter and they sent you packing.”
“There’s no need to be cruel, Mr. Beasley—or to speak ill of the dead.”
“I don’t care about the dead, Miss Hamilton. I care about the living—namely me, and I’m not running a bloody charity. I’ll have my money by nine o’clock tomorrow morning, or I’ll toss you and your sisters out on the street. Don’t make me.”
He stomped off, and Helen collapsed against the banister, her knees giving out. She sank onto the bottom step, her head in her hands. She was frozen in place, paralyzed by indecision and fear.
Visions danced in her mind—of the comfortable house her father had owned in the country, the gentle way of life to which they’d been raised. While they’d never been wealthy, there had been servants, and the occasional new gown, and beaux who came calling, and parties and suppers and neighborhood soirees.
All gone. And she had no idea how to get them back.
Gradually, she realized she was being watched, and she glanced up to see a woman named Josephine—Jo to her friends—who resided in the building. She was always cordial, always stopping to chat and ask how Helen was faring in the big city.
She was about Helen’s age, but she had a rough edge, evidence of the hard existence a female endured in London. She dressed in flamboyant clothes, with bodices that were cut too low, and sleeves that showed too much skin.
There were rumors that she was a doxy, that she entertained gentlemen in ways Helen couldn’t imagine. Under different circumstances, Helen wouldn’t have fraternized with her, but Jo was courteous and kind, and in light of Helen’s predicament, she was in no position to judge.
Jo had a satchel sitting on the floor next to her, and she was wearing her cloak and bonnet. She peeked outside as if waiting for a carriage to arrive.
“Are you leaving us?” Helen inquired.
“Yes, I’ve accepted a new situation. It comes with room and board.”
“How lucky for you.”
“Isn’t it, though?” There was an awkward pause, and she said, “I couldn’t help overhearing you and Mr. Beasley.”
“We weren’t exactly in a spot that encouraged private conversation.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know. We’re a bit desperate.”
Jo nodded, studying Helen, taking her measure. “Might I make a suggestion?” she eventually asked.
“Any advice would be greatly appreciated.”
“You seem out of your element, what with trying to get by on your own. You’re not very good at it”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“So I was thinking of another option. It’s not what you’re expecting—you being a lady and all. Promise you won’t be offended.”
“Considering the condition of my empty purse, there is nothing you could say that would upset me.”
“You might be surprised.” Jo chuckled.
Helen assessed Jo’s brazen outfit, her exposed cleavage, and she chuckled, too.
“Perhaps you’ll embarrass me,” Helen admitted, “but I won’t swoon.”
“There’s the ticket. It’s a cruel world out there. You need to buck up.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Are you aware of my true line of work, Miss Hamilton?”
“I believe it might have been mentioned to me.”
“Previously, I found my own customers out on the streets, but I’m moving to a house being operated by a new madam”
“And this house, it’s a ... a ...”
Helen couldn’t finish, and Jo bluntly said, “It’s a brothel, Miss Hamilton.”
At having the word so blithely uttered, Helen gasped. “Are you proposing that I... that I ...”
“No,” Jo quickly replied. “My employer is Lauretta Bainbridge. Have you ever met her?”
“We wouldn’t have crossed paths.”
“For years, she was mistress to Viscount Redvers.”
“Lord Redvers? Gad, I know
him.”
him.”
“Gossip has it that he split with her when he married. His bride insisted on it”
“I can certainly understand why.”
Lord and Lady Redvers were acquaintances of the peddler Philippe Dubois. They had stopped by when Helen had been chatting with him by his wagon. The viscount had been gruff and grumpy, while the viscountess had been sincere and friendly. She’d asked Helen to call her by her Christian name, and Helen had liked her very much.
Hopefully, the licentious viscount would prove himself worthy of his gracious, pretty wife and his philandering would be a thing of the past.
“Anyways,” Jo continued, “what with Mrs. Bainbridge being dumped over by Redvers, she needs to support herself, so she’s started her own place.”
“What has that to do with me, Jo? I could never... well... you know.”
“What if she could wrangle you a post as mistress to some rich nabob?”
“Mistress!”
“You wouldn’t be a working girl like me. You’d be in a class high above it.”
“But mistress!” Helen exclaimed again.
“Don’t look so shocked. You’d have your own home and income. Your expenses would be paid, and you’d have an allowance for clothes and such.”
“It sounds so tawdry.”
“Why would you say so? Women enter into arrangements like it all the time, and Mrs. Bainbridge could negotiate the terms for you.”
Helen was aghast. “People actually contract over this sort of affair?”
“Yes, Miss Hamilton. Occasionally, you must endure the unpalatable to make ends meet, but in the process, you have to protect yourself. Negotiations are customary.”
“I shudder to imagine it.”
“View it as a bridge to getting back on track. You haven’t done much of a bang-up job so far.”
“No, I haven’t,” Helen dejectedly concurred.
With each of her decisions, she and her sisters had dropped a few rungs down society’s ladder until they were wallowing at the bottom with a kindly, well-meaning whore.
Still... to be a mistress! It would be so wrong. Despite the low morals of her father, she’d been raised to behave better.
“I couldn’t, Jo.”
“Why couldn’t you? You’d be providing shelter for your sisters. From where I’m standing, you don’t have a way of doing that as of nine o’clock tomorrow.”
“I know, I know.”
Jo laid a comforting hand on Helen’s shoulder.
“I fear for the three of you, Miss Hamilton.”
Footsteps echoed at the top of the stairs, and Helen peered up to see Amelia on the landing.
“What is it, Amelia?” she asked.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we ate the last of the cheese. Did you bring us any food?”
“No.”
For the briefest instant, Amelia appeared crushed, but she was a brave child and she hid her dismay.
“It’s all right,” Amelia claimed. “I’m not hungry. We were just curious.”
She turned and trudged to their room, the shutting of their door reverberating through the drafty building. Helen stared at Jo, ashamed and at a loss as to how to carry on.
“Why don’t you talk to Mrs. Bainbridge?” Jo said. “It can’t hurt. See what she says. You never know. She might find you a grand match and all your problems would be solved. Think how it would ease your mind.”
Helen thought of Jane and Amelia, of having to explain why they were being thrown out on the street, and she simply couldn’t bear it.
She sighed. “Maybe I should.”
“Some handsome gent will snap you up in a trice. I don’t doubt it for a second.”
“HELLO, Lauretta.”
“Hello, Captain Odell.” She smiled her sexy, seductive smile, then focused on Michael. “You must be Lord Hastings.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you.” Michael swept up her hand and kissed it.
“Ooh, such lovely manners for one so young. How delightful!”
“You haven’t told anyone that we were coming, have you?” Tristan asked.
“Absolutely not. My word is my bond, Captain.”
Though Tristan had initially scoffed at Michael’s suggestion of going to a brothel, he’d once again caught Michael sniffing around Lydia. Suddenly, the notion of regular visits didn’t seem like such a bad idea. The harlots would tamp down his salacious impulses,
and
they would teach him the ins and outs of intercourse so that Tristan didn’t have to.
and
they would teach him the ins and outs of intercourse so that Tristan didn’t have to.
He’d known Lauretta Bainbridge for years, through his thorough acquaintance with the seedier side of aristocratic London. When she’d split with Viscount Redvers, she’d taken over an establishment run by a prior madam who’d fled the city for unknown reasons.
Lauretta catered to the upper echelons of high society, so she’d been the obvious choice to supply Michael with the lessons Tristan was desperate for the boy to receive.
She circled Michael, as if assessing a fine piece of horse-flesh, and she stopped in front of him and stroked a palm across his chest.
“This will be so enjoyable.”
“Will you... ah ... deal with him yourself?” Tristan inquired.
“He’d probably like someone nearer to his own age.” Lauretta was in her thirties.
“Someone pretty,” Michael said.
“I employ the prettiest girls available anywhere. I select them myself for their poise, beauty, and skill.”
The door opened, and two whores burst in. They were bubbly and giggling, dressed in corset, drawers, and spiky heels. One was blond and the other brunette. They were busty and curvaceous, and Tristan felt a carnal stirring of his own, wondering if he shouldn’t partake, too.
Since arriving in London to watch over Michael and Rose, he’d lived like a saint. He was in a damned brothel. Why not indulge?
“This is Jo,” Lauretta said, “and this is Peg. Girls, this is Lord Hastings.”
“How do’, milord,” they chimed in unison.
They gave a naughty curtsy, torsos leaned forward so that Michael had a full view of their breasts. His attention was instantly captured, and Tristan could see that he’d be in excellent hands.
“How long will they be?” Tristan queried.
“His lordship can stay till morning, if he likes.”
Lauretta’s reply caused a bout of simpering and cooing by the two lusty whores.
“Let’s just do three hours for his first visit. That should be plenty.”
Michael grinned. “I can come back again on Saturday, right?”
“Yes, Michael,” Tristan agreed, “every Wednesday and Saturday, till you’re bored with it.”
“Don’t worry, Tristan”—he eyed their shapely torsos—“I won’t get bored.”
He extended an arm to both girls, and they hurried over, one on each side, and led him out.
Tristan sighed, feeling as if he’d pushed a baby bird from the nest. There was an awkward moment, where he debated if he should leave or request a whore of his own. Lauretta—the consummate saleswoman—jumped into the breach.
“What about you, Captain? Should I prepare a room for you, too?”
At her offer, Tristan considered, then shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? It can’t be healthy, hanging around that prude Maud Seymour.”
“Lauretta! What sort of comment is that?”
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