Page 63 of The Virtuoso
When his whiskey appeared, Lord Roxbury leaned across to catch the bartender’s eye. “Be a good fellow and tell Louise to attend me in the snug.”
The bartender barely nodded before disappearing into the kitchen. A young lady emerged a few minutes later sporting a smile Freddy knew was as false as her truly impressive breasts were genuine.
“Milord.” She beamed at Freddy where he sat frankly ogling her breasts. “May I fetch you another?”
Freddy wrinkled his nose. “It’s a pathetic brew, but I’ve miles to go yet, so yes.”
Her smile slipped a bit, though Freddy wasn’t about to admit the drink was both decent and inexpensive.
“So there ye be.” She set the drink down a moment later, not spilling a drop. “What else can Louise get for ye?”
“Answers.” Freddy scowled at the drink. “It’s been two weeks, my girl. What news have you for me?”
“Plenty of news.” Louise smiled broadly. “What coin have ye for me?”
Freddy’s scowl became as calculating as Louise’s smile. For God’s sake, she took his coin, and all he asked of her—almost all—was that she pass along to him a few bits of gossip and keep her younger relations’ eyes sharp in the same cause.
“I have something for you, Louise,” Freddy said, “but it will have to wait until we can be private. But then, as I recall, the stables are private enough for a woman of your refined tastes, aren’t they?” He slid his hand over her wrist and pulled her down to sit beside him. “Talk, Louise, and then you’ll walk me to my horse.”
He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed tightly. She didn’t wince—peasant stock was tough.
“From what Neal’s pa says, Mr. Windham is improving up a storm at the old Markham place. The roof is almost done, the floors and windows are all in, the plastering and painting is thundering along, and even the grounds are looking tidy and spruce.”
“How charming,” Freddy drawled. “What about the estate itself?”
“Mr. Windham met with Neal’s pa and says he’ll look after the place, now he owns it. Mort and Neal and the boys are to clean up the home farm, since Mr. Windham will be setting that to rights too. The hay barn is to get a new roof, but quick-like, as there’s already hay in it.”
“Did your cousins set up the kindling where I showed them?”
“They did.” She made another effort to withdraw her hand, which gave Freddy another opportunity to exert his superior strength.
“And the lamp oil?”
“It’s there.”
“Where can I find your cousin Dervid now?”
“He’ll be in the livery.” Something in her tone suggested the boy might be anywhere but in the livery.
“Then he might want to watch us, hmm?” He was hurting her, but for his coin, she’d endure the hurt and afford him the pleasure of her wide, clever mouth. “Come along, Louise.” Freddy rose to his feet, tossing coins on the table. “And best be loosening that bodice of yours. I wouldn’t want to rip it when you earn your coin, would I?”
He’d rip it anyway. Breasts like that begged for a man’s attention. Begged for it.
And he was nothing if not a man, after all.
***
Val was smiling when he walked into the Rooster, mentally challenging himself to come up with another twenty terms for the male member. Ellen had laughed so hard the sound had actually filled his ears with music. Light, scampering melodies that would require lightning quick fingers with unerring accuracy—and be great fun to play.
He paid for a pint and some purchases at the Rooster, posted his letters to family, picked up a few for himself, and stopped by the livery, letting the grooms know he’d one more errand before he’d need Ezekiel for his trip back to the estate.
He owed Ellen, and in a way that didn’t feel exactly comfortable. She worked on his sore hand diligently at least once per day, usually more. Val himself had been increasingly conservative about using his hand, not quite willing to admit he had grown more hopeful in the past week.
It was never going to be as good as it had been. Never.
But it was better when he didn’t use it, better when Ellen worked with it. Better if he was careful not to fall asleep with that hand tucked in its customary spot under his pillow. So Val took himself to the apothecary, there to attempt compliance with more of the medical wisdom David Worthington had dispensed weeks ago.
“Good morning, fine sir,” came a cheery voice from the back of the shop. It was a tidy little place but crammed to the gills with jars and bins and trays and sachets. “Thaddeus Crannock.” A little wizened man appeared to go with the voice. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. You’d be Mr. Windham, now, wouldn’t you?”
