The Formidable Earl (Diamonds in the Rough #6) - Sophie Barnes Page 0,4
and as she did, he caught a whiff of something wonderfully fragrant, a blend of citrus and honey. He was almost tempted to lean in and sniff the air, but managed to resist the urge at the very last second.
Instead he turned, following her movements as she continued toward the front desk. “Name?” she inquired. When he didn’t answer immediately, she glanced up, her eyes wide and, he noticed for the first time, a bright shade of blue. “It doesn’t have to be your real name.”
Unsure of which pseudonym to provide, he stared back at her for a long drawn out moment while giving the matter some thought. “Mr. N will do,” he eventually said.
“Excellent.” The woman made a quick note. “And do you have any particular tastes, Mr. N?”
Was she serious? Simon flexed his fingers. He’d not expected her to ask such a personal question or for a visit to a brothel to be so complicated. With the tip of her quill hovering in mid-air, the young woman kept her eyes trained on the paper where she’d been writing, her bent posture offering him a delicious view of her décolletage.
“Why do you need to know that?” Simon asked.
She took a deep breath. Expelled it. Her bosom rose and fell in response. “Some of the women here specialize in more uncommon modes of…um…gratification.”
Simon forced his gaze toward the more appropriate vicinity of her head. Was that discomfort he heard in her voice? A bit unusual for someone in her line of work.
“I see.” He paused while trying to decide what to say. The first word that came to mind was no. He'd never been the daring sort and generally let other men behave like scoundrels while he did his best to look respectable. Except, maybe Hawthorne and Yates were right. Maybe he did need a healthy dose of excitement in his life. Truth be told, he was so damn tired of always being proper, and besides, he was here now, in a place where no one would judge him. Taking comfort in this he leaned forward and said, “Does asking her to pretend she’s my maid fall into that category?”
There was no mistaking the pink hue that colored the woman's cheeks. “No.” The word seemed to catch in her throat. The quill scratched across the paper as she made a note of his comment.
“How about if…” Accommodating himself to the role he'd chosen to play for a moment, he deliberately let his voice trail off and pretended to ponder all manner of vice. But just when he'd settled on the perfect suggestion, he noticed her bracelet.
The air rushed from his lungs and before he could think, he reached out, grabbed her wrist, and jerked it toward him. “Where did you get this?”
Naturally, the woman tried to pull her wrist back, but Simon was stronger and refused to release her.
“Let me go,” she demanded while glancing around as if seeking assistance.
“Not until you tell me why you’re wearing this.”
She went utterly still and her eyes grew impossibly wide. “It was a gift,” she whispered. “I…I don’t know where it was purchased, if that’s what you want to know.”
Simon narrowed his gaze, gave the bracelet one final look, and let her wrist go. “It isn’t. I already know that part.” She took a step back, dropping the quill in the process. “Matthew Strong ordered it from a jeweler on Bond Street when he returned from France. He said it would make a fine gift for his daughter.”
Panic materialized on her face. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I was there.” Her lips parted with pure shock and Simon studied her features more closely. It couldn't be. Not here in a brothel. And yet the resemblance was now unmistakable. Filled with disbelief, Simon stared back into her gorgeous blue eyes. “My God. You’re her, aren’t you? You’re Ida Strong.”
She shook her head and stepped back further. “I should tell the girls you're waiting.”
“One moment. I have questions pertaining to you and your father.” Simon rounded the desk but Miss Strong was swifter.
Before he was able to reach her, she darted toward the nearest door and thrust it open. “Vince. I need your help.”
“Miss Strong. Wait!” Simon strode toward the room she’d disappeared into.
“What’s going on?” a deep voice asked from within.
“He grabbed my wrist,” Simon heard Miss Strong say as he reached the room. “You must make him leave.”