Behind the Courtesan - By Bronwyn Stuart Page 0,41
of her neck was plastered to the skin there and itched abominably. She longed to lay her aching head down on a pillow and sleep.
What was the Duke of Blakiston doing back again anyway? She needed to rest. At least that’s what she’d told Dominic to tell His Grace if he asked after her, because they both knew he wasn’t there to quench his thirst with bitter ale.
“I can’t let him see me like this.”
“Why not,” Dominic asked with a shrug. “Perhaps if he sees you with flour on your face and suds on your dress, he’ll be disgusted and leave you alone.”
If only it were that easy.
“He’s in the dining room and has ordered supper and a glass of brandy.” The way he turned his nose up as he said brandy made Sophia chuckle.
They had reached an easy camaraderie, she and Dominic. He’d warned her when the men heard she was in charge for the night, none had left. In fact more had arrived and she doubted it was her skill with bread that kept them so late. Her first meeting with the men the day of her arrival had gone badly enough for her to not wish to repeat it and the incident just now told her she should probably stay in the tap.
She almost wished Blake was there now to send the duke away. But then she was being silly. She didn’t want his kind of protection. The kind that would see her stay in her room and never venture out.
Blakiston was still under the assumption that St. Ives was the one doing the protecting and while he was, she would be relatively safe. Only she had a feeling he was going to ruin her night completely. If she didn’t talk to him, he might deign to come looking for her and if one man did, what would stop any other from the notion? Roger had obviously thought it all right to seek her out.
Her stomach chose that moment to growl. She did have to eat and she owed the duke her thanks for bringing her home that morning. She went to the bench where her flat bread lay and cut two thick slices from it, making far more mess with the flour than was necessary until the front of her once burgundy gown was almost white.
Memories of another time a messy appearance had saved her came to mind. She had only been accosted on the streets of London a handful of times and had actually been thankful that she had been at the infirmary tending a head wound earlier in the evening.
When the much bigger man had approached her on the street, he suddenly dragged her into an alley and threw her on the ground. All the kicking and screaming in the world hadn’t helped her. Fear held her immobile as he’d torn the front of her coat open, buttons popping and fabric tearing. Here was another man who wanted to take what she hadn’t freely given. When he reached her bloody gown he’d paused, his own hands now tinged pink. It was long enough for her to retain her wits as he stared. Long enough for her to grope around until she found a solid lump next to her hip. She still wasn’t sure what she’d hit her attacker with as she ran away as fast as her legs could carry her. But whatever it was had at least temporarily laid him low. From that day, she spent the coin on hacks and didn’t wander the streets. Perhaps she would arm herself with a heavy object next time she had to collect firewood?
Or perhaps she could hit the duke in the head with a plate if his behavior stepped over any lines.
Satisfied with her appearance, and that Blakiston would be suitably horrified that she looked more like a scullery maid than a courtesan, she left the safety of the kitchen and approached the dining room.
“Sophie?” Blake’s voice stopped her when she walked past his office. He was supposed to be resting in his bed. God, she hoped Dominic hadn’t already told him about Roger. He was like a mother hen when he thought any man got too close.
She considered pretending she hadn’t heard Blake speak, but their truce was still fragile. “Yes?” she replied as she stopped in the doorway but made no move to enter.