A Devil's Touch (The Devil DeVere #4.5)(20)

Simon closed his eyes with a gulp, knowing full well what would follow his confession. He drew courage and then drew breath but another spoke before he opened his mouth.

"Mea culpa," DeVere volunteered.

Trasker spun toward DeVere, his gaze narrowed to a slit. "You, my lord?" An evil smile thinned his lips. It was no secret that Trasker, who had advanced to his position by scholarly merit alone, despised the rich and indolent— and none more than the impudent heir to a viscountcy, Ludovic DeVere.

This could not be good.





Excerpt: THE TROUBLE WITH SIN (coming soon)

A Tavern in Westminster-1764

"How could you possibly wish to risk dirtying your hands with something like this?" Ned asked. "Are you not still bound for the clergy, Sin?"

"That, my friend, is a two-part question that I must answer in kind," Simon replied. "While my dear, devout mother would have me join the church, I have searched deeply and cannot summon an inkling of pious sentiment. Moreover, my natural inclination to licentiousness is decidedly incompatible with a theological vocation, for my two great passions are poetry and women of easy virtue, not necessarily in that order. I fear all of which combines to make me an exceedingly poor candidate for the clergy. This now leads to part two. Why would I dirty my hands? The sad truth is that I am in need of the money."

"Money? But you receive a more than adequate allowance."

"Most of which he squanders on entertaining the aforementioned women of easy virtue." DeVere laughed.

"Admittedly," Simon confessed, unabashed. "And now my father has not only reduced my quarterly allowance, but demands a full account of every ha'penny. I tell you, it is humiliating in the extreme. Unless I wish to live under such a yoke for the next three years, which I positively do not, I must find a way to make my living, and if I must travail for my bread, what better way than by the fruits of my pen?"

"How better indeed?" Ned replied dryly. "So now you combine these passions for poetry and lewd women by writing poetry about lewd women?"

"Precisely!" Simon clapped Ned on the back. "Don't you see the ironic beauty of it? This venture with Harris is the perfect solution."

"What do you suppose will happen when your dear, devout mama gets wind of it?" Ned asked.

"My parents will never know anything about it, for I have taken every precaution to ensure my anonymity. Only you, DeVere, and Harris are privy to my identity." He retrieved the book from DeVere. "My contribution to this little work is, and shall forever remain, a well-kept secret."





Excerpt: JEWEL OF THE EAST (coming soon)

King's Place, an elite brothel in St. James, Westminster-1784

"Are you quite certain Mustafa?" Salime repeated in astonishment. Her mute servant gave a firm nod of his giant beturbaned head. She resumed her fitful pacing of her chamber, kicking at the silk-tasseled cushions that littered the floor. This was the third time in a week that one of her clients had failed to keep his scheduled appointment. It made no sense when she had always been in such high demand. Indeed, known as the Jewel of the East, Salime was the most sought-after courtesan in all of London.

She wondered now if after nearly five years of reining supreme, her star had begun to fade. No, it was unthinkable! It was also impossible, for she had taken careful measures to ensure no man would ever become bored with her. Just as a concubine only had one night to couch with with the sultan, Salime had adopted a policy of never accepting the same gentleman twice. In doing this, Salime promised her clients an experience never to be forgotten… nor to be repeated. And no other woman in all of England could equal her skills in the erotic arts… save perhaps one— the only one Salime had ever entrusted with the Eastern secrets to a man's ultimate pleasure.

Until now, given the exorbitant rates Mrs. Hayes demanded for her company, Salime had always benefitted from preferential treatment. But the madam was gone, having bowed out after a legendary career. The bawd had passed the baton to Kitty Matthews, the number two courtesan of King's Place, a fact that had always rubbed the other woman raw. As spiteful and vicious as her namesake, Kitty made no secret of her resentment of the one she called 'the heathen whore'.

Salime had paid her little heed, however, for life in the brothel was really little different from petty jealousies she had known in the Imperial Harem, a place where rivalry for favor was a way of life, but with Mrs. Hayes retirement, change had come, and none of it to Salime's benefit. Kitty had begun by demanding a higher percentage from Salime, raising "the procuress' poundage" from five shillings per guinea to ten. It was unfair in the extreme, but going into private keeping as a gentleman's mistress was not an option for Salime for her secret would quickly become revealed and her reputation lost. No, Salime had little choice but to remain at King's Place where at least she had the benefit of her ever-present Mustafa to defend her person, even if he could do nothing to protect her livelihood. To that end, sadly, she had only herself.

"Come Mustafa," she ordered her eunuch. "I have need of answers." Something was not right. She knew it in her bones. Snatching up a veil to conceal her face, Salime departed her private rooms in search of a footman.

"Baron Winthrop, he has not arrived?" she accosted the wooden-faced servant who attended the opulent reception rooms. "He was to see me this evening, but has yet failed to appear in my chambers. Has he taken to cards or other entertainments?"