Beauty Tempts the Beast (Sins for All Seasons #6) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,10

weddings. Each of them had married a noble and that had meant churches filled with the toffs. A couple of the ladies had even approached him, signaling their interest in experiencing a bit of the rough. Seemed they’d believed fucking—a word they’d used much to his astonishment as he’d thought proper ladies didn’t even know, much less speak, the term—a commoner, especially a bastard one, would be distinctively different than fucking a noble.

Taking one against a wall, another bent over a vicar’s desk, he’d probably proven them right, confirmed he was no better than the name they called him.

He’d felt tainted, sullied, and used afterward, had no desire to ever again be intimate with a blueblood.

If he’d had any doubts before regarding the new barmaid, he had none now. He didn’t know why she was in Whitechapel but knew her blood was as blue as it came. And he’d be damned before he’d beg her to help him.

Staring at the two sovereigns, Althea gingerly picked up one.

“They’re both for you,” Rob said as he dropped the damp rag on the table and began scrubbing the surface.

“Why would he leave me two sovereigns?” To demonstrate the generosity he would bestow upon her if she accepted his proposition?

“Why would he give us any?” Rob asked.

“How many did he give you tonight?”

“Two.”

He wasn’t singling her out, which made her feel somewhat better. Tonight he’d remained until a couple of minutes before closing. She’d caught him checking his watch several times, as though he was anxious to be about his business. Why, then, had he remained as long as he had?

Why had his gaze remained steadfastly on her? He didn’t leer or ogle but was rather subtle in the watching. She doubted anyone who observed him could have discerned exactly where his attentions resided, but since his arrival she’d felt as though the gentlest of fingers had been tenderly caressing her cheeks or freeing rebellious strands of her hair from the knot pinned at the back of her head.

When he’d signaled for a third scotch, she’d been certain he was going to broach the subject of his proposition once more, and she had a scathing retort waiting on the tip of her tongue that would make her other two rebuffs seem exceedingly polite. But he hadn’t spoken a single word while she set his glass on the table or after. Had merely studied her as though he could see clear into her soul and had the ability to rummage about in it, seeking out and uncovering all of her secrets.

She was fairly certain her cheeks had gone crimson beneath his regard, and she regretted that she’d not had the opportunity to refuse him once more. With most gents, after they made the lurid suggestion of what they’d like to do with her, they didn’t give up until the liquor put them under the table. His proposition was the first she’d received before a gentleman had even taken a sip of alcohol, and that had made it all the worse because she couldn’t dismiss it as his merely imbibing too much and losing the ability to reason. He’d had all his wits about him. It had hurt that he’d viewed her as someone so undeserving of his respect.

What did it matter? Griffith had warned her that if she took a position here, she would have to deal with ribald comments and indecent proposals. She’d tried two other occupations before resorting to tavern maid. As a seamstress, her skill level was such that her stitches seldom met the standard of quality insisted upon for the small payment she was offered. Her time at the grocers had been equally disappointing. The owner was often brushing by her or placing his hand on her waist. When he’d “accidentally” grazed her breast, she’d found herself summarily dismissed because she’d “accidentally” slapped his face.

While she didn’t care for the unwanted attentions here, at least the salary was better than she’d found elsewhere. Other occupations might have been more acceptable, and she was better suited to them, but no one in the aristocracy was going to hire her as a governess or a companion, not after her father’s actions had made the members of her family all pariahs.

When all was tidied up, and the place was closed up tight for the night, she followed her usual routine and made her way to the street. Disappointment slammed into her because Griffith was nowhere to be seen . . . again. What the