Page 10 of Gentlemen Prefer Heiresses
He shoved himself away from the wall and stormed across the room to where Elise was sprawled in a chair. “Which room?”
“Once a client has gone upstairs, we don’t disturb them.” Her French accent had returned.
To hell with that. If he had to search every room, he was going to bloody well disturb them until his mind was put at ease. “Which room?”
“If you partake, I will charge you. If you watch—”
He dug some coins out of his pocket and tossed them at her. “Name your price. I’ll send more over tomorrow.”
She gave him a victorious grin, as though she knew he was being spurred by jealousy. He was not, he absolutely was not. It was concern for Gina, pure and simple.
“The purple door.”
He charged up the stairs and down the hallway in which Gina had disappeared. While he hadn’t been here in years, he knew the doors had no locks. If a girl screamed, they wanted to be able to get to her easily. And the knowledge that the doors could be opened stopped some gents from being rougher than they might be otherwise.
As he rushed toward the purple door, he decided he’d just throw it open, calmly instruct Gina to get dressed, and close the door. It would have more impact without a knock to forewarn them and perhaps she’d listen. If he yelled at her through the door, she was likely to carry on. Besides, he didn’t want to disturb the other customers, have them dashing out into the hallway to see what all the fuss was about. He was striving for discretion in order to protect her reputation.
He barged in and staggered to a stop. They were sitting on the bed, legs crossed, knees nearly touching as they leaned toward each other, possibly on their way to engaging in a kiss. “We’re leaving,” he announced without preamble.
“But I’m not finished here.”
That was obvious. She was still fully clothed, as was the girl. Not a single stitch had yet to be removed, not a hair out of place. Thank God, he’d arrived before any mischief or real damage could occur. “Well, I am. Let’s go.”
She looked at the girl. “So he’s a quick bugger?”
“A what?” he snapped.
“Not usually,” the girl said. “At least that’s what I hear. I’ve never had the pleasure of his lordship’s company.”
“What the devil are you on about?” he asked, irritated to be the subject of their conversation, to have them discussing him as though he wasn’t even in the room.
Gina glanced over at him, her face a mask of innocence. “Venus—”
“Venus? Good God, are you serious?” She’d named herself after the goddess of love?
“Don’t interrupt. Anyway, she was explaining that some men are rather quick at peaking, which a prostitute doesn’t mind because then she can go on to her next john. That’s what they call you, you know? It doesn’t matter what your real name is. To them you’re just john. But a woman who isn’t being paid—like a wife for example—wants a gent who isn’t quick. She wants a man with stamina, who can go on for a while because it takes women a bit longer to peak. And if a man is always fast, a woman might never experience absolute pleasure. Why do you suppose nature did it that way?”
What was she going on about? “Which way?”
“Made it more of a challenge for women to reach orgasm. That’s what it’s called. Orgasm. My vocabulary has expanded dramatically since sitting here talking with Venus.”
“That’s what you’ve been doing? Sitting there talking?”
“Yes, but back to the orgasm question. It doesn’t seem fair.”
God help him, he burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Of all the things I’d imagined going on in here, talking was not one of them.”
“What did you imagine?”
He abruptly sobered and cleared his throat. “We should be off.”
“But I have so much more to learn.”
“I know a better way to teach you. Come on.”
