Juliet’s Touch (Rakes, Rogues, & Scoundrels #3)

Prologue

Eric Stone snuggled against his mother as he fingered her silky black strands. The wig was pretty, but he preferred her real hair because whenever she wore her costumes for the nasty men who invaded her chamber, he had to go away.

“Momma, take it off. Please,” he begged.

“Darling, you know I have to work, although I’d rather spend all my time with you.” She tickled his belly until they both giggled. If only these happy moments lasted forever.

Sighing, she composed herself. “Time to go to the kitchen, my darling boy.”

Eric crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his bottom lip.

“I want to stay with you.” Her bed was large and soft and covered with fluffy pillows.

Velvet draperies kept out the light, making it easy to curl up beside her and drift off to sleep.

The very best thing about being in her chamber was that she was kind and smelled like flowers.

Staring into his eyes, she caressed his cheek. “But Mrs. Paulson baked biscuits today.”

Eric’s mouth watered whilst he reconsidered his response. “No,” he finally said. “I would rather stay with you.”

A tear dripped down his mother’s cheek. She dabbed at it, smearing the dark lines decorating her eyes.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

She sniffled. “I’m not.”

Eric double-checked. Her eyes and cheeks were definitely wet. She was probably unhappy because she didn’t want the men to visit her either. Some of them were missing teeth. A few of them smelled like chamber pots. Although there was a chance she was upset because he was being difficult.

His mother gently nudged him off her lap. “You go on. Mrs. Paulson is expecting you. She’ll be sad if you don’t arrive on time.”

He certainly didn’t want both Mrs. Paulson and his mother to cry. Frowning, he marched to the door.

“That’s my big boy,” she said. “You behave and mind Mrs. Paulson, and tomorrow we’ll go to the park with the fountain and sweet ices.”

Since he was trying to behave like a big boy, he didn’t jump up and down like an excited four-year-old. He fiddled with the latch, then pushed all of his body weight into the door.

“I love you, Eric,” his mother called.

As he struggled to manage the heavy door, a man with a black mustache and thick sideburns pushed past him.

“Cleopatra, are you ready for Marc Antony’s hard maypole?” The man grabbed his privates.

Eric had no idea what the man was talking about, but he didn’t like the way he said it.

Only rude boys grabbed themselves in public.

Also, people had five fingers on each hand, and this man only had three.

The rope looped over the man’s shoulder also gave Eric pause.

Did he mean to climb out the window? If so, to what purpose?

Eric considered storming back into the chamber and punching the unwelcome visitor, but then his mother might not take him to the park. Deciding on biscuits tonight and sweet ices tomorrow, he jumped out of the way, letting the door slam.

With shoulders sagging, Eric followed the rules and stuck to the back staircase. He didn’t mind not being allowed in certain parts of Auntie Athena’s big house because then he avoided the awful men who visited the ladies.

Flynn Collins stood in front of the kitchen door. “Halloo, laddie. How are ye this fine night?”

Eric shrugged. “Momma said Mrs. Paulson baked biscuits.”

Flynn licked his lips. “Aye, she did. And they’re delicious.” He squatted to look into Eric’s eyes. “Why so crestfallen, lad?”

Eric probably shouldn’t talk about his feelings, and yet, Flynn was the closest thing to a friend he had. He wagered the bloke wasn’t much older than some of the girls, yet he protected them as if he were a full-grown man.

“I don’t like the man with my momma,” he whispered as he stared at his feet.

Flynn patted Eric’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, laddie. I know some of these men are right horses’ arses. Most are sewer rats spending the last of their blunt. But yer momma is a smart lass, she is. She’ll be fine. I’ll check in on her in an hour or so. How’s that?”

Eric nodded.

“Ye go on in and visit Mrs. Paulson. She’s been waiting for ye.” Flynn held the door for Eric.

Mrs. Paulson greeted him with a warm smile. “I made biscuits. You sit down and eat up.”

Eric climbed onto his chair, which was higher than the others, so that he could reach his plate.

This was the table where he, Flynn, Mrs. Paulson, and Imogene, the maid, ate their meals.

Sometimes, his mother sat with him. Other times, she ate in the fancy dining parlor with Auntie and the other ladies.

Mrs. Paulson placed two biscuits and a cup of milk in front of him and then returned to her kitchen chores. He gobbled up every last bite and drank every sip of milk. According to everyone at The Pink Petal, he had a healthy appetite and was growing big and strong.

“Momma is taking me to the park tomorrow,” Eric said.

Mrs. Paulson put down her towel and sat beside him. “What a lovely day you will have.” Using the pad of her thumb, she wiped Eric’s mouth.

Now that he was almost five, he tried not to make a mess, but sometimes he still got food and drink on his face.

“You are a good boy. I know your momma loves you very much.” Mrs. Paulson stood. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your chamber. The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner you can wake up and go to the park.”

Eric scooted his bottom to the edge of the chair and dropped his feet onto the floor. “I’m old enough to walk by myself now.” He stood tall, showing Mrs. Paulson just how old and capable he was.

She looked him over from head to toe, and her smile grew. “Of course, you are. You go on. I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll make you a big bowl of porridge with sugar.” She squeezed him. “Good night. Sleep well.”

“Thank you for the biscuits,” Eric said as he pushed as hard as he could on the door. He couldn’t wait until the day he was as big and strong as Flynn, because then he wouldn’t have to use his entire body to move doors that were as sturdy as fat trees.

Wall sconces lit the way as Eric took his time meandering, occasionally stopping to hop up, then down a few stairs.

He climbed a million stairs, or at least a thousand, to his room in the attic, then halted.

Surely, now that he was old enough to walk himself to his chamber, he was old enough to protect the ladies like Flynn did.

He turned around, descended the stairs, and took the back way to his mother’s chamber.

Upon hearing a loud commotion, Eric’s heartbeat galloped as fast as a racehorse. He dashed toward the sound, then stopped short. Three wailing girls had their arms wrapped around each other, Imogene was curled into a ball, sobbing, and Auntie’s palm was pressed to her mouth.

“The bloke is nowhere to be found,” Flynn told Auntie. “Bloody strangled her, he did. What in the devil are we gonna tell the wee lad? Christ Almighty.” Flynn howled at the ceiling.

Fear skittered up Eric’s back. He dashed toward them. “Where is my momma?” He tried to push through the group to get to her door.

Flynn caught him. “No, laddie. Ye can’t go in there.”

Eric pounded his fists on Flynn’s hard chest. “Let go of me. My momma needs me.”

Flynn wrapped his arms around him as Auntie stroked his cheek and whispered soft words. A waterfall cascaded down Eric’s cheeks as he continued to fight and scream.

He might have cried for hours; he couldn’t be sure because time distorted into a nightmarish blur.

Once he was calm, Auntie was there, soothing him with comforting words as tears glistened in her eyes.

She didn’t have to say a word, because deep in his heart he knew that there would never again be sweet ices at the park with Momma.