well over a hundred years, Anya was confident of his discretion.
Oliver’s arrival interrupted her recollections.
“Good evening, Miss Anna,” he said, removing his cap to reveal a thatch of mussed, sandy hair. His smile widened as his gaze found Elizaveta. “And good evening, Lizzie. Sorry I’m late. There was a rat on the steps of my office, but when I went to chase it away, it turned out to be a kitten. The poor little mite was soaking. Some cruel bugger had tried to drown it, I think.”
His brows drew together in a disapproving line. “Of course, I couldn’t just leave it there to die. I had to get it some milk and find someone to look after it, and”—he extended his arms to the sides in a hapless gesture—“well, the end result is that I’m late. Are you ready? We’ll have to hurry if you want to catch the opening act.”
Elizaveta shot Anya a laughing look at her beloved’s habitual tardiness and sent him a dazzling smile. “You’re a good man, Oliver Reynolds. Not everyone would have been as kind as you.”
Oliver’s neck reddened at her praise.
“Let me just get my hat and my gloves, and we can be on our way.”
Elizaveta took the few steps needed to cross the room and enter her bedchamber and reappeared moments later, tying the laces of her cloak. “There. All ready. Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?” Her last comment was addressed to Anya.
Anya nodded, amused by her friend’s concern. She refrained from saying that if anyone accosted her, she’d be sure to hit them over the head with a vase. Elizaveta still didn’t like to joke about their near miss with Petrov.
“I won’t be here for long,” Anya said. “I’m going next door. I promised Charlotte I’d continue the girls’ lessons. You two have a wonderful evening.”
Chapter 5.
Half an hour later, Anya slipped through the back door of London’s most exclusive brothel and smiled at the owner, her friend and neighbor, Charlotte Haye. The infamous madam was dressed in the height of fashion, her naturally blond hair arranged in an elaborate style, her voluptuous figure displayed to its best advantage in a gown of lavender silk.
Anya divested herself of her gloves and bonnet. “Are the girls ready?”
“They are indeed. Tess is looking forward to reading a whole chapter on her own. And Jenny’s been practicing her penmanship all week. Amy’s with a customer, but she’ll be down as soon as she’s free.”
Anya’s smile dimmed a little. When she’d first realized that the house next to the modest apartment she and Elizaveta had rented in Covent Garden was a brothel, she’d been dismayed. But a chance encounter with Charlotte on the front steps had led to an invitation to tea, and Anya had discovered that the notorious Mrs. Haye was one of the kindest, wittiest women she’d ever met.
The interior of the brothel was as tastefully appointed as an ambassador’s residence. Charlotte had spared no expense to make her rooms as luxurious and appealing as possible, and the strategy had clearly worked, because the place was frequented by only the wealthiest and most aristocratic of clients.
Despite her stunning good looks, Charlotte herself did not entertain clients, although she received no shortage of offers. Anya had never asked how she’d ended up as one of London’s greatest procuresses, but from a few things Charlotte had let slip, she’d deduced that an unfortunate incident with a duplicitous fiancé had set her on the path to what most people would regard as ruination. There was, and never had been, a Mr. Haye.
Charlotte, in turn, had never pried into Anya’s past, although Anya had no doubt that she was burning with curiosity. Anya had introduced herself as “Anna Brown,” and Charlotte had never questioned it.
Anya’s feelings on the world’s oldest profession were mixed. There was no doubt that the young women who lived with Charlotte were well cared for. Charlotte protected them like a mother hen, scooping them off the streets and settling them in the house whenever she had a vacancy. She provided them with their own room, food, and clothing, not to mention contraception and regular visits from the doctor. She personally vetted any gentleman who wished to visit “her girls,” and encouraged the women to only accept the “jobs” they fancied, and refuse the rest. Being selective only added to their appeal.
Anya had never heard any of the women complain about their life—indeed, most seemed grateful that Charlotte had saved