Page 4 of A Rake's Redemption
Doxie. It took her a moment to realize the man meant a prostitute. Of course. Most sailors who’d been out to sea would be looking for one. She knew there were houses of ill repute, although she’d never been close to one. Right now, she didn’t care what the occupants of such a place did, as long as she could get to other people.
“Lead the way.”
He released his hold and put out his hand. “Me money?”
Inis shook her head. “Nae until I see the place for myself.”
“How do I know ya are good for it?”
Halfway-intoxicated people really didn’t think straight. “Ye saw me get off the ship. I’ve nae had a chance to spend my wages, now have I?”
The man squinted, considering. “If I have to wait for me money, it’ll cost ya two guineas.”
“Agreed.”
He pointed. “That way.”
The alley was straight but narrow, with boarded-up houses on both sides that shaded the way. Inis quickly considered her options. She could break and run, but the street was deserted with un-kept hedgerows and broken-down buildings. The man wasn’t totally drunk, and his legs were a lot longer than hers. He’d more than likely overtake her and, in the process, find out she was a girl. Then shereallywould be in danger. The other option—and she hoped it was a better one—was to go with him.
The walk wasn’t long, but by the time she stepped back into the mottled sunshine of a small close, her muscles were rigid and every nerve was on edge. “How much farther?”
“Not much.” The man gestured to a walkway between two buildings. “Through there.”
Her breath hitched at the sight of another enclosed area, but at least this one wasn’t long. She forced herself not to run. She was close to getting away…at least, she hoped she was. She inhaled deeply and moved forward, the man on her heels.
“There it is,” he said as they came to the end of the short path.
To her surprise, she was looking at what appeared to be a residential street, but then they were several blocks away from the wharf. The street had cobblestones instead of dirt, and the row of two-storied houses looked solid, even if the paint was fading from some of them. The largest house had green shutters and several hacks standing in front of it. One in particular caught Inis’s eye, for the chestnut horse standing in the braces had excellent conformation as well as matched stockings on all four legs and looked to be purebred. And quite out of place.
“Which house?”
“The one with the green shutters,” the man said behind her, “although if ya want a woman, ya’re probably gunna have to clean the privies.”
“Clean the… Why?” Inis said. She felt the man’s hand clamp down on her shoulder. She turned to see the point of his dagger only inches away from her face.
“Because I’ve decided to take all your money instead.” He put his other hand out. “Give it to me, or I mark up that handsome young face of yours.”
Inis swallowed hard. The man suddenly didn’t look drunk at all, and the point of the double-edged dagger was much too close. She reached under her shirt and quickly pulled her coin pouch loose before the man got any ideas of doing it himself.
“Here.”
He shook the pouch, his eyes widening at the weight. “Ya must have been out at sea a long time to have this much blunt.”
Better he think that than suspect she came from a wealthy family. “Long enough,” she said, but he’d already turned and was running away.
She drew a long, shuddering breath and tried to steady her nerves. The man was gone. With a sinking feeling, she realized every pence she’d had was gone, too. She should have had enough sense not to carry all her coin in one place. Now what was she going to do?
She could go over to the green-shuttered house and ask for a job scrubbing pots and pans or even privies. At least until she got enough money to follow her original plan. But it was a brothel. If the owner realized she was a girl, she’d probably be put to work doing something else. Could she take that chance? No one would believe her if she told them she was the niece of an Irish duke and had run away to avoid marrying an earl’s son. She wouldn’t believe such a story herself. She looked like a street urchin, dirty and disheveled and in need of a bath.
Inis eyed the well-groomed chestnut horse. Its owner probably lived in a much better part of London. The carriage looked kept up, too, the brass door handle and wheels polished. No driver lingered, although she supposed a man visiting a brothel might not want his coachman knowing about it and would drive his own carriage.
She left the confines of the narrow walkway and crossed the street, looking around quickly to make sure she was not detected, then opened the carriage door and quickly slipped inside. She lay down on the floor and pressed against the seat, just in case the owner would glance in the window before he left.
She’d worry about explaining herself to whomever the owner was when they got to wherever the man lived. For now, she waited.
…
Alex took a sip of whiskey several nights after his escape from the countess’s window and looked around the smoke-filled room with no windows and poor lighting. A far cry from White’s or Brooke’s—depending on one’s political views—the Shangrila catered to the somewhat shady side of London’s population, albeit those with substantial bank accounts. No one here asked how that money had been accumulated. No one cared. Men came here to gamble.
