Beauty Tempts the Beast (Sins for All Seasons #6) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,12

to break a good many things. She had a feeling tonight he may have broken the man who attacked her. “You were following me.”

“Not with any nefarious intent. I wanted only to ensure no harm came to you after your husband failed to show tonight.”

“My husband?” She shook her head, nearly cried out at the agony, pushed her fingers against her temples. Not moving seemed to be her best course. “Not my husband. My brother.” Then something else struck her. “How did you even know about him?”

He sported the look of a guilty man.

“You were following me last night as well.” He was the warm feeling against her nape.

“Only until I knew you weren’t alone. Then I went on my way.”

She was torn between appreciating his attentions and resenting them. “My brother will be worried. I have to leave.”

“Not until the surgeon gets here.”

“A surgeon costs coins.”

“I’ll see to that matter.”

“I don’t want to be beholden.”

“I imagine you already are, love,” Jewel said, holding a cup and saucer in front of her face. She lifted the cup—

“I can do it.” Taking the cup, she was surprised by how her fingers shook. She closed both hands around the delicate fine china, inhaled the rich aroma, took a sip, and nearly groaned from the delicious flavor of it. If she could get herself steady, she could leave before the surgeon arrived. But if she stood up now, she’d probably fall flat on her face, and she refused to display that weakness in front of him. Once again she glanced around. “Is this a . . . a brothel?”

Jewel’s throaty laughter echoed around her. “It is indeed a bawdy house.”

Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, she returned her attention to Beast, wondering if his earlier proposition had involved her working here rather than just tending to him personally. He may have been issuing a worse insult than she’d originally surmised. “You manage a brothel?”

“Jewel manages it. I simply live here.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion. “You’re a”—what would the word be?—“a male trollop?”

It still wasn’t a smile he gave her, but the corners of his mouth eased up more than she’d ever seen them. “No.”

“Not for want of ladies making offers,” Jewel said. “I’ve told him he could earn handsomely if he’d make himself available.”

“Jewel, why don’t you see to the customers who are awaiting their turn?” His tone implied he was giving an order not offering a suggestion.

As the woman rose from her place on the sofa, Althea was surprised by how tall and substantial she was. Her red silk gown hugged her close, left little doubt she had ample attributes to offer a man. “You might want to move her upstairs. The gents aren’t going to be happy standing about in the foyer for long. I think you terrified a couple of them when you shouted at them all to get out after you barged in here like a madman with her in your arms.”

“Give them a free tumble. I’ll cover the cost.”

With a wink and a smile, she comfortingly patted Althea’s shoulder. “Finish your tea. The brandy will do you some good.”

Brandy. No wonder it tasted lovely and warmed so thoroughly. She took another sip, peering over the lip of the cup at Beast, who had yet to move so much as his little finger. She wished his nose would itch so he would engage in some movement instead of steadfastly watching each of hers. She’d never known anyone who could remain so still for so long.

Finally, he said, “We’ve never been properly introduced. They call me Beast.”

“I know. Polly told me.”

“Then you have me at a disadvantage, as I don’t know your name.”

She recalled how he’d referred to her in the alleyway, the desperation in his tone, the roughness of his voice. Beauty. “Althea Stanwick.”

“What are you doing here, Miss Stanwick?”

“You brought me here.”

He shook his head. “I’m asking the same question I asked last night. Why are you in Whitechapel, working at my sister’s tavern, putting your life at risk wandering the streets alone at night?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be alone.” She set the teacup aside. “I have to leave. As I’ve already mentioned, my brother will be worried.” Probably frantic by now. According to the clock on the mantel, it was past two.

“The surgeon—”

“I’m not seeing a surgeon.” Gingerly, she rose to her feet, grateful when she didn’t sway. “Where’s my cloak?”

“This is unwise on your part.”

“I don’t see how it’s really any of your concern. My cloak,