Page 109 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Chapter 22
Now they werein the safety of a private establishment, Bink felt at liberty to tuck Paulette close.
He’d forgotten Rowland had found a place here. Betty’s clients were gentlemen, and not so above the common that more than one porter was required. Rowland’s face alone, burned by a cannon burst, usually put drunks on the right path, with no need for fists.
In the kitchen, a cook stirred a large pot, while a maid worked at a table—two more to worry about. Though both lived in, were not likely to remember him, and were, in an establishment like this, bribable.
Rowland deposited them in the tidy parlor Bink had visited before. It was stuffy, the sunset and August heat filling the room with otherwise invisible dust motes. He watched Paulette circling, examining the tasteful chairs and settees.
“Is this one of her ladyship’s shelters?” She turned questioning eyes on him, innocent eyes.
The words stuck in his throat, and by the time he dislodged them it was too late. The door opened and Betty swept in.
Paulette’s gazewent to the woman at the door. Tall and handsome, she was plainly dressed and coiffed, but rouge painted her lips and cheeks, and her bodice was cut so shockingly low it revealed all but her nipples.
“Sergeant Gibson.” A smile lit her face and she curtsied, as if he were the only man in the universe.
Jealousy sparked in her and threatened to burst through her fists. The woman was flirting with Bink, her husband. He, in return, was bowing, his hat clutched in his hand, the unruly hair at the back of his neck damp from the stifling heat. Paulette squared her shoulders and clomped over next to him.
She was treated to the same warm smile and curtsy, which settled her ire but inspired a new problem. To curtsy or bow, she wasn’t sure, and the momentary confusion put her more out of place.
“Mrs. Townsend, may I introduce my wife, Paulette.”
Mrs. Townsend took her hand and poured all of her formidable charm over it, scattering the jealousy. The lady oozed compassion. She must be a highly skilled nurse for the residents here. Her dress was odd, but she’d heard it said town ladies were given to scandalous décolletage.
Bink had stayed away from the house, only visiting on Lord Hackwell’s business, for propriety’s sake. The one man here was too scarred to be a threat to the shelter’s residents, but a man like her husband, well, rumors would start.
“So lovely you are, even playing a boy, gentlemen would be smitten. And I can see there is a story here, one you may not wish to share, and that is all right. The ladies are gone and we are all having a little holiday here also, just me, Rowland, the cook and Trish. I’m afraid it will be bread, soup and cold meat tonight, some sweet punch with our dinner that we can fortify with a good brandy, if you wish, or perhaps you would prefer ale, Sergeant Gibson? Meanwhile, I have a wholly unoccupied room. One of the girls left last week to be married, imagine? Come along and you can refresh yourselves before dinner. I’ll have water sent up.”
Mrs. Townsend was already out the door, and Bink’s hand was on Paulette’s elbow, so she went.
“I don’t have a proper dress for dinner, ma’am.”
Mrs. Townsend smiled. “We are all at our leisure here. But if you are more comfortable in a dress, I believe I can assist you.”
They went up a flight of stairs and down a long corridor.
How many ladies actually lived here, Paulette wondered. There were multiple doors. The rooms must be as small as a nun’s cell.
Mrs. Townsend opened the door and swept into a room. Red curtains drenched the window and wide bed. The chair was upholstered in red, the carpeting red. The mantelpiece had been painted a dark burgundy.
There was so much red the room was on fire.
When she looked up, Mrs. Townsend was staring at her. Bink wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“You didn’t explain, Sergeant Gibson?”
Fear spiked through her, as hot as the flames of this room. Her hands started to numb. She took a step back.
He grabbed her hand. “No, Paulette. You’ll not be confined here, and you’ve no reason to fear Betty Townsend. We’ll only stay the one night, visit the solicitor, and then go on to Hackwell House or somewhere else safe. What Betty means is…what I didn’t tell you is, this is a…a…”
“A brothel.” Mrs. Townsend’s voice was kind and held no shame. “I do not deny it. And I do not lock young women up against their will. Trish will be up in a moment.” She nodded and closed the door on her way out.
Paulette plopped on the chair. A brothel. Her husband had brought her to a brothel to keep her safe. The feeling returned to her hands and she rubbed at her eyes. His words raced through her mind. He had been here twice, and only on Lord Hackwell’s business.
Her eyes started to tear and a laugh bubbled up in her, and soon she was both laughing and crying. Strong arms came around her, lifted her out of the chair and cradled her.
“Paulette, Paulette, do not cry love.”
