Chapter 1 #2
He didn’t know what else to say. The truth was, he would not bed her or any of Auntie's girls, and it was not because he looked down on them. Hell, he knew damn well if he had been born female, he’d be spreading his legs for food and shelter.
But when one’s late mother was a prostitute and one grew up in a brothel, a man had to try to abstain.
.. Not that Eric knew any other bloke in his circumstances to inquire about such things.
Still, his heart bled every time one of the ladies offered to share her bed with him. He couldn’t blame them. Most of the men these women serviced were reprobates.
Abigail’s smile faded. “If you fancy Kitty, mayhap she can join us?”
Two women at once? Heat spread through his veins, but he shook his head hard.
He would not bed any of Auntie’s girls. He should tell Abigail that she was lovely, and that she deserved more than this demeaning life.
And yet, what else could a girl of great beauty and low status do?
Work in a factory twelve hours a day until she died from lung disease?
Marry an arse who kept her barefoot and pregnant?
At least here with Auntie, Abigail had fashionable dresses, a lovely bedchamber, decadent lotions and perfumes, paste jewels, and a competent cook.
“Get in here,” an aristocratic-sounding male called from her chamber. “I am not paying you to stand in the hallway.”
A red-hot burst of anger shot through Eric. He clenched and unclenched his fists. These ratfuck wealthy bastards who frequented The Pink Petal were just as rotten as the scum who prowled about Whitechapel.
“Auntie created an oasis in the middle of the filth,” Flynn once told him.
“Aye, she’s a good woman, that one. Works herself to the bone trying to provide some beauty for women who’d otherwise be lifting their skirts in dirty alleys just to stay alive.
Paupers to princes, they all love The Pink Petal. ”
If Eric were inclined to do so, he would argue that the rich blokes were more entitled and bigger arses. But what was the point? Flynn and Auntie would point out that at least they paid more, which was true.
Unshed tears glistened in Abigail’s eyes. “I had better see to Lord Riley,” she whispered. “Even if he hurts me, at least he is comely and he pays well.” She backed into her chamber, closing the door behind her.
Life wasn’t fair. No woman should be saddled with that deplorable, volatile beast who liked to exert control over his victims. Not for all the gold in the world. If only Eric could save her. Protect them all. Rid the world of cruel men.
A hollow helplessness nipped at his soul as he continued down the hall to Auntie’s chamber. He placed his knuckles on the door and hesitated. She rarely ever saw to the patron’s desires herself these days, and yet on the odd occasion she did, it humiliated Eric to disturb her.
Perhaps he was worrying needlessly. He had been chased across the city by this Fletcher chap. An unknown person tracking you would unnerve the most stalwart of men. Besides, if Auntie were entertaining a gentleman, Flynn would have alerted him that she was “indisposed.”
A moment after he knocked, Auntie swung the door wide and tugged him into her chamber. Tonight, powder concealed the lines around her eyes. She cradled his cheeks and looked him over. “Good. No bruises. I fret so when you fight.”
Eric dropped his bag onto her velvet settee and rooted around, pushing a pile of rope to the side to retrieve the pouch holding his winnings.
He handed it to her so that she could add it to their savings.
If he continued to win, eventually, someday, they would have enough blunt to make their dreams come true.
“Oh, Eric. I hate that you are working so hard,” she said. “Did you take out something for yourself?”
He opened his mouth to assure her he had, but quickly clamped his lips closed. He wasn’t capable of lying to his mother’s best friend, who had raised him as if he were her flesh and blood.
“Oh, Eric. Whatsoever shall I do with you?” She withdrew a couple of coins and pressed them into his palm. “Do you have time for a drink?” She inclined her chin toward the crystal decanter on her side table.
No, he did not, and yet after fighting, running, and demolishing a bowl of stew, he would kill for a drink. “Water, please.”
“Sit.” She pointed at the settee.
He obeyed.
She glided to the bedside table and poured him a drink from her pitcher.
Her hips swayed, and the hem of her silk dress swished around her ankles as she carried the cup across the room and sat opposite him.
Age had not dimmed her allure. What man, besides Eric, wouldn’t want her?
She smelled of roses and desire, after all.
He chugged the warm water in one massive gulp, then brushed his sleeve over his mouth.
“Malestorm was here today,” she said as breezily as if she were discussing the weather. However, she couldn’t fool Eric; the despicable man’s visit had unnerved her. Her fingers quivered as she twisted her hands in her skirt.
Meeting her gaze, he waited for her to continue.
“He raised my rent again. He said he will lower it if he has free rein over the girls.”
Free rein to demand lewd sexual favors and demean them. The bloody blighter wasn’t any better than the violent Riley.
“I refused his offer.” Auntie swallowed. “So now I may have to use some of our savings to pay the increased rent.”
If this blackmail continued, they’d never be able to buy a new building and free the women from Malestorm’s machinations.
“I needed you to know the truth,” she said. “But you can’t hurt him. I can’t have you locked up in the local jail.”
Eric stood and placed his cup on a side table. He tossed the coins she’d given him beside it.
Auntie grasped his forearm. “Promise me you won’t confront him.”
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
“Are you going out again tonight?” she asked.
Eric nodded.
“Please don’t get hurt. I can’t lose you, my boy. I’ve already lost your…”
They’d both lost the person they loved most that long-ago night when a three-fingered blackguard snuffed his mother’s life. He should tell Auntie he’d be careful, but that was a lie.
“You won’t find him, Eric. It has been years.” She sighed. “No man of seven and twenty should lead such an austere life. You should enjoy yourself. Make some friends. Find a woman to love.”
He would never stop looking for the man who’d taken his mother from him, even if it took him forever.
Recently, he’d extended his search outside the East End.
Unfortunately, ridding the city of villains had slowed down his search.
Steadying his breath, he strolled out of Auntie’s chamber, down the hall, and up the back stairwell to his room in the attic.
Once he was clad in black, he slid his mask over his head—that is, if one could call a threadbare sack with eye holes a mask—and grabbed his bag. Opening his window, he climbed onto the roof, hopped onto a large branch, then shimmied down the trunk of an ancient oak.