Chapter 7 #2
I tamp down on my grin because this is too easy. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at La Puissance before, my lord.”
He throws back the remainder of his drink. “First time. And I’m not a lord.”
My heart sinks a bit because I’d pegged him as a wealthy patron and my judgment isn’t usually off.
But then my eyes rove over him again. His clothing doesn’t lie.
He may not be a lord, but new money spends just as well as old money.
I trace that single finger along his forearm.
“Perhaps you would allow me to show you the ropes? My private suite is right up the stairs.”
He clears his throat and steps away from me, though the action looks as if it pains him. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t think I’ll be staying much longer. Or returning.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Did we do something to offend you?”
He shakes his head. “Quite the opposite, I’m afraid, Lady Caterine.”
Both eyebrows rise this time. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
He flashes me a sad smile. “I believe that’s for the best. Good night, Lady Caterine.”
Before I have time to protest, he turns and leaves.
I stand blinking at the empty space where he stood a moment ago, shock and something like regret roiling through me.
He said he wouldn’t be coming back, which means I won’t be seeing him again. And for some reason, that makes me incredibly sad. That itch under my skin kicks up until the sensation almost burns.
Because of all the funds I could have gleaned from him, of course, I reason.
But I don’t have time to wallow. The night is getting on, and I haven’t yet brought in a single customer.
I’m still getting used to this new mindset—searching for funds instead of people who might need my help—and I can’t pretend to enjoy the hunt.
So when an obviously wealthy man approaches me, flashing a leering smile and a pocket heavy with gold coins, I don’t consider sending him away.
It doesn’t take long before we’re naked in between my cool silk sheets.
The man is fumbling and quick, clearly not caring one bit about my comfort or pleasure.
Turns out, when I share an emotional connection with my clients, they are more likely to care about my pleasure in return.
But my pleasure doesn’t matter anymore, what matters is keeping my sister safe.
I close my eyes as he pushes into me, willing my brain to travel elsewhere for the next few minutes.
Instead, an unbidden image pops into my mind.
The man from the bar. His shy smile tugging on his perfect lips.
The bright blue spark in his eyes. I imagine his hands tracing gentle lines over my bare skin.
His lips tracing the same path. I let out a breathy sigh.
“You like that?” the man grumbles, yanking me out of my pleasant vision.
The air in the room turns a putrid sort of puce as he heaves one final thrust and groans in a way that could give off the impression he’s dying. Luckily, I don’t think that’s the case.
“Oh, that was wonderful,” I cry, keeping my voice light and pure so he doesn’t notice the lie.
I hold the man in place, not that he’s made any effort to remove his weight from smothering me.
In this case I don’t mind since I’m not done with him yet.
I push any thoughts of handsome men from my mind and focus on the task at hand.
The man mumbles something unintelligible into my neck. Whatever it is, it must be good because the green thickens and darkens around us. Not that he can see it.
I have to search hard for the correct emotions, for so long that the green starts to dissipate, and the man starts to pull away.
Snaking my hand in between our bodies—his slick with sweat—I stroke him until both he and the color harden, until I find the string I need to pull on.
Rather than tuck this emotion away, folding it up into a tiny box, I expand it, inflating the man’s stilted sense of generosity.
I wait until I’ve expanded his sense of charity to the fullest before I put on my breathiest voice. “I don’t know about you, my lord, but things have been so hard for me since the Uprising.” I continue my gentle strokes, though he’s begun to soften in my hand.
He pulls far enough away to look at me. He doesn’t make eye contact, but his gaze roves over my face and down to my chest. “I was under the impression you were one of La Puissance’s top performers.”
“I am.” I shrug, not bothering with false modesty. “But even I have been seeing a downturn.” I sigh, as long and dramatic as I can manage. “I might have to find another line of work if things continue this way.”
The man frowns, putting even more space in between us. His eyes trace my naked body before he climbs out of bed and dresses, his attention never returning to me.
Shit. I must have messed up somehow. I’m still not used to using my Gift to take advantage of my clients, and I’ve had some trouble pulling the right emotional strings with the right amount of pressure.
The man pauses by the door, looking at me one final time. “We can’t have you leaving La Puissance now that I’ve finally found my way to your bed, Lady Caterine.” And with that he dumps the entire contents of his pockets into my elephant-shaped gold bowl.
I keep my eyes soft and innocent, overcome with gratitude. “Oh, thank you, my lord. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you.” I sit up and clasp my hands in just the right way, pressing my breasts together.
“You can show me. Tomorrow night.”
Fighting back the grimace, I nod like there’s nothing I would rather do, wishing I could turn back the clock to the way things used to be, but no part of me feeling sorry for taking advantage of the man as I have.
—
The following morning, Andra comes to my room as I’m getting dressed for the day.
“Just in time to help me.” I gesture to the buttons along the back of my burgundy velvet dress.
It’s one of my more demure pieces, despite the sumptuousness of the fabric, tight in the bodice, but flowing into a wide skirt.
The neckline dips low, but the cap sleeves provide a small amount of coverage.
She raises her eyebrows but obliges. “This is quite a look for midday.”
“Lady M has requested my presence at a meeting.”
“Perhaps you should try to hide at least some of your disdain for the new lady of the house.”
I snort. “Haven’t you heard, ladies no longer exist?”
She snorts right back, popping the final button in place. “I’ll keep that in mind, Lady Caterine.”
“We missed you at breakfast this morning.” I head toward the mirror above my dressing table to check my lip paint.
For a second, Andra’s face pulls into a tight grimace, but by the time I turn from our reflection, she’s smiling. “I wasn’t hungry.”
I take a moment to study my sister, noticing the hint of a shadow underneath her eyes. “Is everything all right?”
She doesn’t get the chance to answer before there’s a knock on my door.
Lady M doesn’t wait for permission, opening the door and pushing into my room. Her eyes rake me over and she gives one single, imperious nod. “Our guest has arrived.” Her eyes flit to Andra, whose cheeks pale under the weight of her gaze.
It’s a small enough reaction that no one but me would notice, but I don’t have time to inquire further with my twin before Lady M is ushering me out of the room and down the stairs. I make a mental to note to stop by Andra’s room later and figure out what’s going on.
For now, I walk slowly down the grand staircase and into the formal sitting room, trailing behind Lady M.
An unfamiliar young woman stands with Harold, glasses of whisky in each of their hands.
The gold brocade curtains have been pushed back to let in the daylight, though the gas lamps and candles are still lit for ambiance.
Heavy wood accents the room, from the massive fireplace to the masculine furniture, lending an air of oppression to the space.
It’s one of my least favorite rooms in the club, one I avoid whenever possible.
Of course this is the room Lady M chose.
The unfamiliar woman turns as I enter, her bright eyes roving over me, though her head-to-toe perusal feels more appraising than salacious.
She’s gorgeous, with strawberry-blond hair and blue eyes that immediately bring to mind the handsome stranger from the night before.
I wonder if I will continue to see him everywhere, and for how long.
It is unlike me to linger on someone who clearly had no interest in lingering on me.
Harold steps forward. “My dear Caterine, may I please introduce you to Her Royal Highness Dominique Reid, Princess of Scota?”
Everyone in this room knows that Dominique is no longer a princess, not technically anyway, but that doesn’t stop me from dipping into a low curtsy.
“Your Highness. It is an honor.” It’s a lie, is what it is.
Scota might pretend to have the best version of royal leaders, but I have personal experience with the so-called benevolent ruler of my home province that proves otherwise.
I will never forget that it was as a ward of the province under her father’s rule that my sister and I suffered, forcing us to flee to the streets as children young enough to barely survive on our own.
But I wipe any traces of those memories from my face.
The princess tosses back the rest of her whisky in a very un-princesslike manner. “We both know I’m no longer a princess, and even when I was, I didn’t bother with any of that nonsense.”
I arch one eyebrow, trying and failing not to be charmed by her candor. “You look familiar, Your Highness. Have you been to La Puissance before?”
She grins and it brightens her already shining eyes. “Several times. I have always enjoyed watching you perform. And please, call me Dom.”