Chapter Thirty-Five
“Dear, are you listening?” Tha?s’s friend Marianne Anderson asked, holding up two squares of fabric. “Rose or violet for the curtains in the dormitory?”
Tha?s had not been listening. She had been staring at her fingernails, which were bitten to the quick, and wishing she would stop gnawing at them, which she could not do owing to her never-ending foul mood, which she could only blame herself for since she’d gone and liked a man too much.
“I don’t care,” she said, picking at a cuticle. “You choose.”
“Are you feeling well?” Marianne asked. “You seem quite—”
“Bitchy,” Cornelia provided.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Tha?s muttered.
“I was going to say irritable,” Marianne said gently. “You’ve not been yourself since you returned from the country.”
Tha?s was surprised they’d noticed. There had scarcely been time to talk to one another since she’d gotten back a month ago. They were all too busy dashing around the Institute, trying to ready the place for its opening in a few months’ time. The building was aswarm from dawn to dark with builders and decorators, deliveries of furnishings and supplies, interviews of students and training sessions for the teachers, and meetings between the founders and the patrons who had agreed to take on female apprentices.
The craze was welcome, as it kept her friends from interrogating her about the weeks she’d spent away. They still thought she’d been gallivanting around a grand estate with Colin Camberwell. Only Elinor knew she’d been with Eden.
There would be no harm in telling them—they’d never violate Eden’s privacy by gossiping—but she didn’t want them to look too closely at her. Especially not when Eden’s sister, Anna, was so frequently around.
As she was this bloody afternoon.
Tha?s liked the girl, and her help around the Institute was sorely needed. But Tha?s couldn’t look at her without thinking of her brother.
“I like the violet,” Anna said.
“Me too,” Seraphina agreed.
“Violet it is,” Marianne said, writing it down in her notebook.
“That’s the final question from the decorator,” Marianne said. “Why don’t we all sit down and have lunch.”
“Yes, let’s,” Cornelia said. “Maybe food will improve this one’s temperament.” She gestured at Tha?s.
It did, at first. The cook they’d hired was very talented.
But then Cornelia turned the conversation to the topic Tha?s had avoided thinking about all month: Lord Eden’s success in the marriage mart.
“How is your brother faring with the ladies?” Cornelia asked Anna. “I must admit the idea of such a serious man going about to balls and musicales is rather amusing.”
It certainly did not amuse Tha?s.
And Eden was not as serious as they thought. He only appeared that way when you didn’t know him well. As some very lucky woman was bound to discover very soon. The wench.
“Well,” Anna said, “Alastair’s not hopeless, exactly. He’s quite good at conversing with women. He takes a sincere interest, and he’s even rather funny.”
Yes, because she’d taught him how to be natural and ask questions and not talk about his sheep all day, Tha?s thought darkly.
“And he’s a good dancer,” Anna went on. “He claims to loathe it, but he at least puts on a decent show.”
Tha?s wondered what that meant. Whispering to his partner? Seducing her with his eyes and body as he did the outwardly innocent steps? With the handsome face and perfect manners he’d come to her with, combined with the things she’d taught him, she’d made him deadly. The whole ton was likely clamoring to marry him.
She hated it.
“Sounds like he’s a success,” Seraphina said.
“Not quite,” Anna said. “I suspect he could have any woman he offered for, but he’s morose when he’s at home. He barely eats and has gotten so thin I had to summon the tailor. He hates the town air and says it does not agree with him, but he’s here every season for Parliament and I’ve never seen him quite so pale or grim.”
Good, Tha?s thought. Maybe he’d be so pale and grim no one would be willing to marry him, and she’d not have to be brokenhearted for the rest of her damned life.
She was instantly annoyed at herself for wishing him ill.
And then forgave herself because Eden deserved her ire.
“Is there anyone he’s taken a particular interest in?” Marianne asked.
Tha?s held her breath. The very idea of him feeling tenderly toward someone else was like a trowel to the chest.
“It’s difficult to say,” Anna said. “He seems to be courting half the girls in town. He’s out every night and assures me he spends every moment he’s not in the Lords or working calling on ladies.”
This was not the answer Tha?s had been hoping for.
“Which chits is he visiting?” Tha?s asked, despite herself. The specifics would not help her mood, God knew, but she could not bury her curiosity.
Seraphina chortled. “Are you familiar with the virgins of the ton by name, Tha?s?”
Well, in fact of it, she was. And she was very curious which of the girls from the letters had caught his interest, even if thinking of him with them made her feel like the devil was lying on her grave.
“I like to know the gossip,” Tha?s said.
Anna tapped her chin. “Well, let’s see. He’s called on Letty Pettigrew a few times. He appreciates her skill with music. Apparently her voice is like an angel’s, and she’s a genius on the harp.”
Tha?s remembered the letter about Miss Pettigrew. She’d deemed her too musical, likely to ruin Eden’s beloved peace and quiet. He’d seemed to agree with her at the time. It annoyed her that her opinions were forgotten.
“A musical wife might be nice for him,” Cornelia said. “He’s a patron of the arts, after all.”
Anna nodded. “And she could entertain us when I visit. His house in the country is so dreadfully quiet.”
Because he hasn’t any children yet, Tha?s thought. She tried not to gnash her teeth at the idea of some other woman giving them to him.
“So will he offer for the Pettigrew girl?” Cornelia asked.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Anna said. “He sent flowers to Lord Bollinger’s daughter, Ellie, just this morning after dancing with her twice last night. He went riding with the Chambers sisters—I think he likes the elder one. She’s quite good on a horse. And then there’s Valencia Estes, whose father is the ambassador from Spain. She’s interested in politics and—”
Anna went on for a quarter hour, describing the charms of woman after woman Tha?s had told Eden not to bother with.
It turned her off her food.
“I’m going home,” Tha?s said when lunch was over and Anna had finally stopped talking.
“But it’s only two o’clock,” Seraphina said. “Don’t you want to help interview the next four girls?”
“I have a pounding headache,” she said. Not to mention a sour heart.
She took a hackney coach back to her house. She wasn’t up to walking.
At home, she lay down in her bed and closed her eyes.
It was rot to feel this way. If she was this upset hearing about Eden riding with someone in the park, how would she be able to bear it when he married?
She needed to focus on her own life, not his.
Which meant taking on new patrons.
She had not entertained a man since she’d come home. She told herself that she was too busy with the Institute, but that wasn’t true. She could easily take an evening to herself once a week to pad her savings. She wasn’t desperate for the coin. Over the years, she’d squirreled away enough to keep her fed and housed when she eventually stopped whoring—but the extras could go to her charity girls.
Besides, harlotry had been her calling since she was fifteen years old. Without it, who would she even be? She’d spent her whole life becoming Tha?s Magdalene. Her work had given her a purpose, and it was good for her.
This dithering was because no one in her queue of patrons was Alastair Eden. It was sentimental drivel, and it was going to ruin her whole life if she didn’t cast it from her mind.
“Fine,” she said aloud. “Now is as good a time as any.”
She found the pile of solicitations from men who’d requested an evening of her company. She plucked one from the top. Lord Alfred Quirke. She knew him by reputation. He was the third son of a marquess. Not particularly rich or distinguished in any pursuit besides leisure, but he was said to be handsome. He’d do.
She sent him a note inviting him for the evening. Normally she gave more notice, but now that she’d made the decision to take a patron, she didn’t want to wait. Besides, she was the kind of woman men dropped everything for.
It would do her well to remember it.
Quirke replied that he’d visit her at ten o’clock, which was perfect, as it left her time to visit her favorite bathhouse. It was her ritual to bathe before and after each man that she took.
Once she’d soaked, she went back home and spent two hours making herself beautiful. She dabbed her body with scent and rouged her lips and cheeks. Rubbed oil into her skin to make it soft and supple. Put on a gown that would make a madam blush.
Once her body was done up to perfection, she laid out a spread of wine and fruit and cheese and spirits for her guest.
He arrived promptly at ten.
She opened the door and stood in such a way to show off her body as she greeted him. The candlelight, she knew, made her gauzy gown transparent, revealing the outline of her breasts and arse almost as well as if she were naked.
“You’re a vision,” Quirke said. “Turn around.”
She did, and he growled and cupped her bum in his hands. “Just as good as they say.”
“Better, even,” she purred.
“Better, even,” he concurred.
“And you’re a fine specimen of man yourself,” she told him, leaning back against his chest as his hands explored her waist.
“So they tell me,” he said.
“Lucky me.”
Patrons loved flattery. She was good at making even the ugly, stinking ones feel wanted. But tonight the pretense of enjoyment was a strain. She keenly felt the work of every smile.
Quirke’s cock pressed into the small of her back. She was glad he was already hard. Less work for her to get him there. Usually she didn’t mind putting in the effort—enjoyed the satisfaction of making a man want her—but tonight she wasn’t interested.
She slid her hand over his prick.
“What a rod you’ve got,” she said. “Can’t wait to feel you inside me.”
She wished she hadn’t said that. The last time she’d uttered it had been to Alastair. And damn her, it’d been true.
Quirke’s hands climbed up to her breasts.
“Can’t wait myself,” he said.
She turned around and began undressing him.
He was of medium height and broad build, with sandy hair and blue eyes. He was clean-smelling, attractive, nice enough, clearly aroused by her.
He was as close to a perfect patron as she could imagine. She owed him a good night.
She rid him of his coat, cravat, and waistcoat, taking her time and running her hands over his body until he was bare-chested. Then she dropped to her knees to shimmy off his boots and breeches.
He pressed his cock into her face as she did so.
A bit rude, but at least he knew what he wanted.
Normally she’d be happy enough to give it to him. She’d not bother undressing him, just take his prick out of his smalls and suck him off to get the evening going. Part of her charm was her exuberance, after all. Men did not pay her small fortunes to be reluctant.
Yet she ignored the cock in her face and took her time getting him undressed.
When she finally had him nude, she lowered her head and took his penis in her mouth.
He groaned.
This was the part where she should put her hands to his arse and pull him closer to take him deeper. The part where she should lick and suck his knob to get him going. The part where she should make her own sounds of pleasure.
But she didn’t bloody want to.
She didn’t want a damned dick in her mouth.
At least, not this one.
She popped it out, pulled back, and stood up.
Quirke looked at her in confusion.
“I’m afraid it won’t be happening tonight,” she said.
“Pardon me?”
“I think I’m getting sick. You should go.”
He gaped at her. “But you summoned me here just this afternoon.”
“I’ll have you back some other time.”
He gave her a disgusted look. “I’m not paying.”
“Wouldn’t ask you to.”
He shook his head, dressed quickly, and left without a word.
Which was quite polite, really. Many men would have wanted to give her a slap for kicking them out without their getting any satisfaction.
But it was worth the risk to be alone.
She simply could not put on her usual show with a strange man when she wanted a specific one so badly.
She lay down in her bed, alone, and ached for Alastair.