Page 21 of What a Courtesan Wants
“God’s teeth, Toby,” he snapped, bracing one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder. “How many times have I told you … pay attention to your surroundings and your task. You could have cracked Rupert’s head something awful. Are you all right, boy?”
Rupert stared up at him with large brown eyes, his dark skin gone ashen with fear. It had been a near miss, and an injury would have seen him laid up and unable to work to help his mother provide for six other siblings.
“Right as rain, Mr. Drake.”
“Sorry, Rupert,” Toby muttered, an embarrassed flush pinking his pale cheeks as he stared down at his shoes. “It won’t ’appen again, Mr. Drake.”
Aubrey shrugged to adjust the heavy fabric roll on his shoulder, then reached out with his free hand to pat the lad’s head.
“No harm done. Eyes sharp and hands steady, Toby, yes?”
The boy peeked a tentative glance at him, and Aubrey smiled, affection overtaking the annoyance that had colored his entire day up until now. “Yes, sir.”
“I sent Kit to the Chelsea bun-house this morning,” he told them in a conspiratorial tone. “There are still half a dozen left. Why don’t the two of you go have at them before you return to your work?”
The boys traded grins, Rupert’s fear and Toby’s sorrow momentarily forgotten.
“Thank you, Mr. Drake,” Rupert called out before the two boys dashed off toward Aubrey’s study.
With a soft smile, Aubrey continued up the ladder, neatly fitting the fabric roll into its place before taking the rungs back down two at a time. When he reached the ground, he found the pair who had come into the warehouse departing. Kit rounded the counter, absently fiddling with measuring tapes and scissors before his fingers brushed against the remnants of the fabric the other boys had just taken down from the wall. It was a pale yellow and pink striped silk, which Kit eyed with a dream-like expression on his face.
The son of a clerk and a seamstress’s assistant, the boy was much like Elizabeth in appearance, his umber-hued skin a combination of the black of his father and the white of his mother. He’d been born with his mother’s pale green eyes, which offered a startling contrast to the dark brows and lashes. A pretty lad, Aubrey had to admit—too pretty for his own good. Women and girls alike often sighed over him when they entered the shop, though all remained aware that his status as a linen draper’s assistant made him nothing more than a pleasant thing for them to make eyes at over the counter. He was a good lad and never allowed the attention to make him grow pompous.
Kit had been his first apprentice and had worked hard to prove himself worthy of becoming Aubrey’s eventual business partner. With Rowland long deceased, there was now room for another man to step forward and help Aubrey run the business. As he had no son of his own and likely never would, over the years Aubrey had grown content with the idea of one day leaving the warehouse in Kit’s capable hands.
That was, if the boy would stop making calf-eyes at his niece and sniffing about her heels like a dog after a juicy cut of beefsteak.
“Something on your mind, Kit?” he asked, his voice taking on a sharp edge as he watched the young man from the corner of his eye.
Fingers still toying with the silk, the boy jerked his head up as if startled and met Aubrey’s gaze. “No, sir … I mean, yes, sir … I mean, I only …”
“Spit it out, Kit.”
“I had thought that Miss Barrett might like the remnants of this striped silk … for her designs or whatnot, sir.”
Aubrey followed the young man’s glance to the door to the back room, behind which Elizabeth had set about finishing her gown. True to form, she would begin work on a new one soon enough, and she would come to Aubrey or Kit to ask for the leavings of whatever fabrics had recently been taken out of the displays. Often enough, there would be so little of certain textiles left, yet somehow, she managed to make magic with them—sewing them together to make stunning, unique creations of her own. He had noticed Kit going out of his way to reserve bits here and there for her, and he didn’t like it one bit.
The bell gave a chime, the shifting of light through the open door telling them another potential customer had walked in. Aubrey jerked his head toward the form of a woman appearing in his peripheral vision.
“Perhaps you might devote your energies to your job rather than worrying about what my niece might like.”
Kit snapped to attention and brushed the fabric aside, shoulders squared like a soldier’s. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
However, as Aubrey turned and caught full view of the woman approaching the counter, equal parts surprise and curiosity flared through him. Buttoned from neck to hips in a dark gray redingote, Lucinda held a ruffled white parasol in her gloved hands. A gown of printed silk—pale gray with lavender flowers—peeked out from the opening of her coat, and a jaunty hat swathed with gray ribbon sat perched atop an elegant coiffure.
She looked far too tempting so prim and buttoned-up, and Aubrey cursed himself for fantasizing about snatching at those buttons and freeing her magnificent breasts. The sharp edge of desire only stoked his growing anger as she gave him a lingering glance filled with what looked like determination.
“On second thought,” Aubrey murmured, “give this fabric to Elizabeth, then go take inventory of the new shipment of ribbon spools.”
Kit gave him a puzzled look. “But, I already—”
“Count them again,” Aubrey snapped without another look in the boy’s direction.
Aubrey stared at Lucinda in silence as she edged closer, hands clenched tight around her parasol as she stared about the warehouse with mild interest in her eyes. He followed her gaze about the front room for a brief moment, taking in what her eyes registered—the watery cascade of fabrics yet to be returned to their niches in the wall, the display of buttons and trimmings behind the glass of the counter before him, the decorous display of fans and shawls near the front windows. Then, her gaze moved back to him, both curious and questioning.
No. He would not be drawn in by her again. The sorrow and longing in those eyes had made a mess of his senses before, tricking him into thinking her in need of something he might possibly be able to give. But, she had proven with every word and deed that she no longer wanted nothing from him—not even his cock.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” he said in his most business-like tone. “What brings you into my humble establishment today? Might I interest you—”
