Page 3 of Bedding the Marquess
The woman turned away with a nod and began seeing to another guest. Gideon watched with some fascination as she leaned toward the man to expose nearly her entire ample bosom above the gaping neckline of her unlaced muslin bodice. Her tone was markedly different as she inquired after that man’s desires, and her fingers traced suggestive patterns on his knuckles.
Now, Gideon was just vain enough to recognize that most women found him attractive. It had never been a chore for him to locate female companionship, even less so if said companion was incentivized. It was not often that he was overlooked. The fact that he was in a brothel and had been treated with only polite professionalism thus far was more than a little bit perplexing. He resolved to brush it off and move on with his evening.
He took a healthy swig of his whiskey and enjoyed the fire it ignited within him as he turned to face the room. It was still early in the evening, so only a handful of patrons had arrived. From what he’d heard, the spaces would soon be overflowing with wealthy and titled men seeking excitement and companionship.
Gideon’s optimism began to wane when an hour passed, and, other than many deferential nods, the most attention he’d garnered was from the barmaid who kept him well-plied withglass after glass of whiskey. Despite his efforts, all the women spoke to him with only polite deference before moving on their way. Did he smell off? He didn’t believe so. He slyly checked his clothing for odd stains and found none. What in God’s name was making him so repugnant that even prostitutes avoided him?
Fed up, Gideon gently touched the shoulder of the first woman who walked by him. She was a young woman—perhaps early in her second decade—with round, rosy cheeks and warm eyes. She wore her dark curls piled at the back of her head and a low-cut crimson gown designed to tease her curves to perfection. She was lovely and enticing in all the right ways…in all the ways his whiskey-blurred mind needed.
“Don’t you look lovely this evening,” he purred in his best seductive tone.
Her eyes widened almost comically, and she stammered, “W-Why thank you, sir.”
“I have been looking for someone like you since I arrived.” His fingers trailed down her arm and snaked around her trim waist. “I hope you are not already indisposed because I find myself in dire need of companionship.” She squeaked in surprise when he tugged her against the length of his body.
“Sir!” she gasped, and the breathy sound sent the first spark of desire to his groin.
He dipped his head to whisper in her ear, his finger tracing the edge of her tight bodice just above where her areola would begin. “You are,” he murmured, “a delicacy in which I cannot wait to indulge.” Her floral scent filled his nostrils until it overcame all his other senses. Just as he leaned forward to press his lips to the fluttering pulse in her throat, he was suddenly yanked back.
Hard.
So hard, in fact, that the woman in crimson slipped from his hold and he staggered back a step. His eyes flew to theperpetrator and he was rather pleased to find she was a petite spitfire with sapphire eyes, white-gold hair, and the most angelic features he’d ever beheld.
“What are you doing?” the newcomer demanded of him, her voice loud and unsteady.
When he was once again steady on his feet, Gideon turned his most charming smile on her and followed it up with a wink. Was it his imagination, the drinks flowing through his veins, or was there a furrow of confusion in the little angel’s brow?
“Don’t worry, love; there’s enough of me to go ’round.”
In one elegant movement, he pulled her body flush with his, and her full breasts were crushed against the hard wall of his chest. His sluggish mind barely registered how she was wide-eyed and stiff with shock when he dipped his head and his mouth slanted over hers.
Only two heartbeats later, Gideon was jerked backward by his shirt collar far more firmly than another woman could ever have managed. The angel stumbled free from his arms. He was bent painfully back over the bar top, the back of his head cracking on the polished surface and making his vision flicker. The door to the attached card room still swung from where his assailant had burst forth in a black rage. Gideon winced and blinked up to find a fist cocked in the air to deliver what would likely be a knockout blow. He’d dealt enough—and been on the receiving end a time or two—to know one when he saw it. He grappled with the iron arm that held him bent back at an awkward angle, but he was unable to gain purchase.
The large hand with its scarred knuckles began to descend but stuttered and froze.
The man above him stared, unmoving, though his hold on Gideon’s clothing remained firm.
Gideon stopped struggling when he finally looked up into the face of his attacker.
It was like staring into a reflecting pool; the images were near copies, but something was ever so slightly distorted the closer one looked.
The room grew silent as more people became aware of the situation.
The girl in crimson turned to the blonde; her face was deathly white when she stammered, “Mrs. Black—I never would’ve—I thought ’e was—I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to react when Mr. Black behaved like that…now I see ’twasn’t him, but his twin. I did not know he had a brother.”
Gideon was not a man prone to fanciful imaginings, nor could he recall a time he’d ever drunk himself into such a state that he saw ghosts.
However, he was fairly certain his deceased father had followed him on his inaugural visit to this Covent Garden brothel and was standing over him, lips curled in a familiar snarl, eyes hard and cold, fist poised to strike. It was a sight he’d been subjected to numerous times in his youth but had thought never to see again when the man’s body had been interred in the family plot some five years earlier.
The ghost’s features suddenly softened into confusion, and Gideon seized his opportunity to wrench himself free. It wound up taking far less effort than he’d judged, so he stumbled forward and barely caught himself before he tumbled face-first into the floor.
Judging from the gaping expressions around him, he wasn’t the only one taken aback by the situation—two men, near mirror images, standing wide-eyed as they stared one another down.
Gideon straightened his shirtsleeves and ran his hand through his dark hair just as his father’s ghost performed the same gesture. The two of them froze mid-motion.
The angelic little prostitute he’d kissed moved forward and spoke to the other man in soft tones, her blue eyes dancingbetween them. The next thing he knew, Gideon was ushered into a back room at Lady Night’s. He and the other man stared one another down across the space like dogs in a fighting ring, wondering which of them would be the first to make a move.
The woman—brave little thing that she was—spoke first. “Who are you?” she asked Gideon. Her voice was clear, but its slight tremor gave away her unease.
