Undressed (Undone by Love) (7 page)

With a sigh of frustration, she sat up in bed and looked wistfully toward the window, its drapes drawn tight against the night sky
. Throwing back the bedclothes, she leapt up and hurried across the room, where she drew the drapes and secured them back against the silk-covered wall. Soft, silvery moonlight flooded in at once, and Brenna immediately felt a measure soothed. As her eyes drank in the sight of the bright moon and the twinkling stars, the tension she’d felt bunching the muscles behind her neck eased, if only a bit.

Mr. Rosemoor had appreciated the sky, had listened to her idle talk of the moon and stars with interest
. Was he perhaps looking up at the sky himself right now, remembering the words they had shared? Recalling the gentle touch of his hand to her face, as she was? Or did that moment hold far less significance for him than it had for her? For she realized that she had not been able to push him far from her thoughts since that night in Lady Brandon’s garden, try as she might. What was she to do? Forget him. She must. She had no choice but to do so. Even if her parents hadn’t forbidden it, there was no room for him in her life. She was here in London to become acquainted with her true family, and to raise awareness of the Clearances. Nothing more.

Not removing her gaze from the calming sight beyond the glass, she returned to bed and slid back between the linens, shivering as the fabric skimmed against her bare calves
. Hera meowed, then curled herself next to her, the familiar, deep purr filling the room’s silence. With a sigh, Brenna glanced one last time at the open window. No, the night sky hadn’t changed; it remained as it always had, continuing its cycles uninterrupted. If only she could say the same for her life.

***

Colin tipped back the tumbler in his hand, draining its contents in mere seconds. He shuddered as the gin burned a path down his throat. Damn the cheap liquor. His face felt cold, almost numb. With a scowl, he examined the glass in his hand, noting the chip on its lip, the stain marring its base. He glanced wildly about the crowded room, wondering just how he’d come to be there, drunk as the devil, in some disreputable East End establishment. The White Bull? No, that wasn’t it. White Boar? Was there some such creature as a white boar? He hadn’t any idea, nor did he care overmuch.

Here he was viewed as nothing but a rich man, a gentleman
. He didn’t have to listen to the whispers, endure the stares. Certainly far more pleasurable than anywhere in Mayfair, that was for certain. But where was Ian Staunton? He distinctly remembered arriving with the man. They’d played several hands of faro in the back room before Staunton had disappeared, following a comely serving wench through the crowd.

Colin set the glass on the table with a
thunk
and stared unseeing at the far end of the room, which teemed with bodies crowded in much too small a space. The stale air reeked of body odor, of smoke. Of cloying perfume, he mentally added as he felt something soft brush against the back of his coat.

“’Scuse me, gov’na,” a throaty voice said just behind his ear, and just before he felt her press her breasts into his back once more, perhaps for good measure
. He reached for the woman’s arm and pulled her around to stand before him. She giggled, tossing her mane of ebony hair over one shoulder as she did so. A scarlet-colored bloom, now wilted and browning at the edges, was tucked behind one ear. Her faded red satin gown clung to her shapely figure in all the right places, nearly bursting at the seams—seams that were visibly beginning to pull. Sweeping his gaze across her rouged face, he guessed her to be no more than twenty, perhaps two-and-twenty. Yet her dark, kohl-smudged eyes were dull and lifeless. Old eyes. Worn eyes.

“See anything you like, gov’na?” she asked, raising one brow suggestively
. She reached for the empty glass that sat on the table before him, shrugging her shoulders as she did so and giving him an eyeful of round, high breasts crowned by deep, rose-colored nipples. Something in his blood stirred involuntarily at the display.

“I believe I do,” he muttered, tossing some coin to the table to cover the cost of the drink
.

“Mmm,” she purred, licking her lips
. “I was hopin’ you would, a fine gentleman like yerself.”  She leaned down to whisper her price in his ear, affording him yet another look at her wares, and he had to admit they were appealing. Why shouldn’t he? He was a man with no attachments. No lovers. What difference would it make if he accepted her offer? He could use a warm embrace, after all. A soft touch. It had been far too long since he’d enjoyed such pleasures.

With a nod of acceptance, he rose to his feet and straightened his coat before following the woman through the crowd, around the side of the bar, and up a narrow, dark staircase
.

Minutes later, a door shut behind him
. Unbuttoning his coat, Colin glanced around the small, drab room. A waning fire burned in the fireplace, sending wisps of smoke curling into the room, over a lumpy brocade chair before the fire and across a bed in the corner, haphazardly made, as if someone had hurriedly pulled up the bed coverings before taking their leave. Gray, shapeless drapes hung across one window, shuttered against the night. A wardrobe stood like a sentinel in the far corner, a chest of drawers beside it.

The woman sashayed across the room, her hips moving sensuously and purposely
. Clearly a practiced move. She reached for a candle on the table beside the bed, and knelt before the fire to light it. Cupping one hand against the flame, she returned the candle to its iron holder, then turned to face Colin with a sultry smile.

“What’s yer name, gov’na?”

“Colin,” he answered simply, still rooted to his spot by the door.

“Well, now, Colin, they call me Rosie
. I think we’re goin’ to get on just fine.”  She kicked off her slippers, then hiked up her skirt and placed one foot on the brocade chair. Colin’s eyes were drawn to the curve of her thigh as she rolled down her stocking, inch by inch, purposely prolonging his anticipation. At last she deposited the stocking on the floor beside her slippers, then began the process anew with her other leg. As she did so, her gaze locked with his, as if she dared him to look away from the display.

He didn’t
. Once the second stocking lay on the dusty floor with its mate, she stood facing him, reaching around herself to untie a single lace that held together the back of her bodice. “Now, Colin, why don’t you tell Rosie what brings a man such as yerself here. A fallin’ out with yer lady?”

Colin swallowed, his cloudy memory brought painfully back to the folded missive he carried in his breast pocket
. “Something like that,” he finally muttered, unbuttoning his waistcoat.

Rosie pulled down her bodice to reveal the bare breasts he’d hungrily admired only moments before
. “She don’ understand you, do she, love?”

Oh, but she does
, his mind countered. As no one else does. Not Honoria Lyttle-Brown, not Hugh Ballard, certainly not Lord and Lady Danville. No one save his own family, and he wasn’t even entirely sure of
them
, now that he thought about it. He blinked hard, trying his best to focus his gin-muddled brain on the pair of breasts before him. Round and milky white, they stood high and proud even without the support a corset afforded.

Rosie moved across the room on silent feet till she stood just inches from him
. With a lusty smile, she let her gown fall entirely to the floor around her feet. Colin’s gaze drifted down, across her stomach to the dark triangle of curls where her thighs joined, and back up again to her breasts. He reached out to touch one dusty-rose nipple, wondering even as he did so what Brenna’s bare breasts would look like, would feel like to his hungry touch. Damn his traitorous mind!

Inhaling sharply, he forced himself to continue fondling Rosie’s breasts, taking one nipple between his thumb and forefinger
. She was here now. Not Brenna. Never Brenna.

The whore’s flesh immediately puckered to his touch, and she tipped her head back, eyes closed
. “Yes, gov’na,” she purred. “Just like that. Go on, take it in your mouth.” 

Colin’s hand dropped to his side, and he stood motionless, frozen in self-loathing disgust
.

Perceiving his hesitation, Rosie opened her eyes and peered at him curiously
. “Well? I thought you were up for a good rut, I did. Rosie won’t let you down, y’know.”

“I’m sure you won’t.”  Perhaps he
did
need a good rut. Perhaps a good rut would permanently erase Brenna from his mind, as her parents wished. As Brenna wished, for all he knew.

He drew Rosie toward him, his mouth slanting across her eager one
. He barely felt her roving hands shove his coat from his shoulders and tug his linen free from his trousers’ waistband. Valiantly he struggled to focus on her mouth, her lips soft, wet, and yielding. But raucous shouts from downstairs distracted him, drawing his attention away from the woman in his arms. As if she sensed his distraction, she slid her hands up his torso, her nails raking across his skin.  

Colin opened his mouth against hers, and her tongue flicked against his in challenge
. In response, he pulled her more tightly against his body, her breasts flattened against his chest. He inhaled her scent—cheap perfume, smoke, and stale liquor. Nothing like Brenna, who intoxicated him to near senselessness with her clean, lavender scent. But Brenna was pure, an innocent, a far cry from Rosie, who clearly knew how to please a man, if the hand stroking his mercifully cooperative shaft through his trousers was any indication. Dear God, how he’d wanted to kiss Brenna like this. Not once but twice now he’d thought of nothing save taking her sweet mouth with his own.

Sudden bile rose in his throat, and he pushed Rosie away, staggering backward with a groan
. Devil take it, what was he doing? This was wrong. Senseless. He couldn’t do it, even if he wanted to. It was clear that bedding Rosie would do nothing to slake his needs.

“Aww, come back now, love
. I’m likin’ the feel of ye.”  She reached for the flap of his trousers, but he side-stepped her grasp.

“I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind,” he said, hastily buttoning his waistcoat and retrieving his coat from the floor.

“Oh, no, you don’, gov’na.”  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You agreed to my price, and there’s nay goin’ back on the bargain.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew several notes that he’d only just won
. Money he sorely needed. “Here.”  He placed the money in her palm and closed her fingers over it. Her scowl deepened, and he wondered if he’d offended her, if she thought his change of heart indicated he’d found her talents lacking. “Here’s your price, plus some. I beg you to forgive me, madam. While your charms are tempting to say the least, I...I...” he stuttered, striving hard to make his voice articulate and respectful, despite the effects of the drink. “I must regretfully decline them.” 

Rosie’s painted mouth curved into a smile, but she made no move to cover herself
. “I hope she’s worth it, gov’na. She’s got you by the ballocks, she does, by the looks of it.” 

Colin shrugged into his coat, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the buttons
. He had to get out of this place.
Now
.  

“If you’ll excuse me.”  He bowed, then opened the door and let himself out into the corridor, cursing under his breath as he did so
. What a bloody fool he was. For allowing Staunton to drag him there tonight. For thinking he could enjoy one woman’s body while he lusted for another, one he could never have. Damn Danville for bringing his daughter to London and tempting him with something he could never possess.

And damn the man for writing the letter that he carried with him now, the letter that had cut him to the quick and snuffed out whatever hopes had blossomed in his breast against his will; against his reason
.

With a groan of frustration, he moved to stand beneath the sconce on the wall, its flame flickering pitifully in the dingy hall
. His heart pounding against his ribs, he pulled the missive from his pocket, unfolded the page for perhaps the sixth time in so many hours, and read the now-familiar words:

I’ve informed my daughter of your true character and fully explained the details of your fall from grace, including the recent debacle in Covent Garden and the means in which you were extricated from a duel. I have commanded my daughter to herewith cease all association with you and have extracted the promise of her full compliance, which she made without hesitation or regret. If there is any honor left in you, you will cease all attempts to pursue her at once. I will not have my only daughter ruined by association with someone like you, simply because she is far too innocent and trusting to recognize a rogue in gentleman’s clothing.

The letter continued on in the same vein for several more lines, but Colin had no wish to read further. Instead, he held the page up to the wall sconce, watching in grim satisfaction as the corner lit and curled inward. When half the page had been licked away by the flame, he dropped what was left of the missive to the floor and ground the heel of his boot into the burning page till nothing but a pile of smoldering ash remained.