Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
‘Don’t be bitter, son. I have worked so very hard, been through quite an upset to get us to this point. Our newspaper is the biggest in London! After everything that’s happened, I need confidence, Frank. If we are to go national in the future, I need someone dependable at the helm.’
Dependable.
He leans forward. ‘And since we’re talking honestly, I must tell you His Grace came to me with a great concern.’
‘And what is that?’
‘You will stay away from Lady Taya Winters. I mean it, Frank. Your rakish ways must not extend to the Duke’s sister. We rely on him for the machines we buy, Frank. We would be at a loss without them if he were to withdraw them.’
‘You’ve bought those machines fair and square.’
‘Indeed, but he can most certainly withdraw the small part that his father invented that is needed to make them operate.’
I snort. ‘He would never do such a thing, Papa. It would greatly upset Eliza if the Duke were to sabotage the business she so cherishes.’
‘Let him not give us reason, son.’
I look away, as if hiding the desire in my eyes. I have not indulged in a woman for weeks. I wish I could tell him that. I have, however, fought to resist one. ‘Thank you for your confidence and trust, Papa,’ I bow in respect when I feel very little in this moment, and leave him behind to go seek solace in something more me than, apparently, running a business or being trusted by one’s own family.
‘Frank,’ he calls on a tired sigh. ‘Come on, let us not be at odds.’
I raise my chin and keep on my way, leaving Gladstone’s and standing on the steps for a few moments. I breathe in the air, my eyes falling onto a concealed entrance across the road. ‘Bugger it,’ I say, pacing over and slipping inside Kentstone’s. After all, being a rake is, according to my father, my sister, and Taya Winters too, all I am good for. It would be a mighty shame to disappoint them.
The harem of naked women roaming the rooms of the secret, lurid club were somewhat intimidating the first time I encountered them. Loud, brash, unashamedly brazen. Now, they are a welcome distraction. I flash one particularly attractive dark-haired beauty with unusually pearly white teeth a smile as I slump into a chair – she’s new here, I’m sure of it, for I do not recall her and I’m certain that bright smile could not be missed, not even in the dim, smoky rooms of Kentstone’s. In fact, she illuminates the place. And yet … I feel nothing. No urge. No thrill.
Am I broken?
‘Drink, sir?’ she asks, pushing her chest out subtly, her lips red, her nipples a lovely shade of pink.
‘Gin,’ I say, relaxing back in my chair. ‘And then why don’t you come take a seat?’ I pat my lap, and she smiles.
‘Looks comfortable.’
‘Oh, it is.’
Her head tilts, her perfectly arched eyebrows arching further. I watch her the entire time she’s away from me, the sway of her bottom, the jiggle of her breasts, the bounce of her dark locks when she walks. She is quite the siren, I cannot take my eyes off her. Perhaps all is not lost. Perhaps I can muster some desire from somewhere – get that highwaywoman out of my head, since I can’t tell that story yet, and Taya Winters, since I can’t ever scratch that itch.
She places my drink down carefully, but rather than take a seat on my lap, she lowers herself to another chair.
‘What is your name?’ I ask as I claim my gin.
‘Ruby.’
My drink pauses at my mouth, and I take her in carefully, admiring, noting a mole above her lip. ‘Suits you.’
‘Thank you. And yours?’
‘Patrick.’
She nods and crosses one partially bare leg over the other. ‘Now we have the tiresome chore of formalities out of our way, would you like to divulge your requirements?’
I hum to myself, thinking Ruby is rather polite and well-spoken for a cyprian. Too posh, to be honest, and I am somewhat intrigued by it. I lean forward in my seat. ‘Tell me a little about yourself, Ruby.’ I surprise myself. Since when have I desired conversation?
She cannot conceal her recoil. ‘Men do not usually come to talk, Patrick.’ She, too, leans forward. ‘Ten shillings for my tongue, my mouth, my hand, and my hole.’
I blink rapidly, caught off guard by her brazenness, which doesn’t suit her, but very much suits the rooms of Kentstone’s, and, with the greatest of confidence, I suspect it is a ploy to convince me that she does, in fact, belong here. ‘Which hole?’ I retort stoically, and she inhales, telling me all I need to know. She absolutely does not belong here.
In somewhat of a fluster and ignoring my lurid question, she quickly gets up, places herself on my lap, and kisses me hard, her breasts compressed against my front. And still, I feel absolutely nothing. But I see plenty in my darkness. Dark blonde hair, green eyes, flushed cheeks.