The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(9)

“I’m just going to shut the door. Madam insists on the privacy of her guests.”

The blacksmith jerked the laces of Aya’s corset, causing her to stumble back a few steps. He grabbed her around the waist and stared down into her eyes. From this angle, Aya smelled the char and sweat on his skin, and she knew the greases from his hands must be staining her corset.

“Forget the door. Get to work.”

Aya opened her mouth to protest, but the man slid his arms up her shoulders and pushed her down. She hit the floor so hard that her knees bounced a half-inch off the metal before landing in place. Pain jolted through her kneecaps, and Aya grunted through clenched teeth. Her legs shook from the pain and her hands from nerves, but she said nothing. With aggressive customers, Aya knew her only option was to remain silent and do exactly as instructed. For whatever reason, these rough clients did not want to be seduced. They needed to feel powerful, and the sooner Aya gave them that power, the sooner they left her in peace.

As the blacksmith unbuttoned his trousers, Aya began to count. When she had to fumble her way through seduction, her job could take a large portion of the night. But in most cases, when her job only required compliance, she rarely had to count higher than a thousand.

One. Two. Three. Four.



*



As the door slammed shut behind the blacksmith, Aya leaned against her bed and pulled her knees up to her chest. Her stockings lay haphazardly on the floor like two lifeless snakeskins. She shifted through the folds of her skirt to reveal her bare knees. Already her blood pooled under her skin, creating large, purple bruises on either kneecap. Gently, Aya reached one hand up to her neck and another to her hip. Both areas felt raw, and Aya guessed she would be sore from the blacksmith’s grip for at least a full day.

Aya allowed her head to fall back against the mattress and her eyes to shut. She took deep breaths, feeling the pinkness drain from her flushed skin and the muscles in her legs and back relax with each one. She had no concept of how long she sat like this, or even if she was awake the entire time. After a long while, Aya became convinced that she would not have any other clients this evening. She went to fetch her cloak and heard a soft knock on her door.

Silently cursing her luck, Aya seated herself on her bed. She remembered a piece of advice Dellwyn once gave her, about setting the tone for the interaction, and she lay down on her side, hoping to avoid any more stress on her knees. She propped her head up with one arm, using her free hand to adjust her corset and push up her small breasts as much as they could be lifted. She tousled her skirt, making sure to expose the full line of her naked leg. First impressions, Dellwyn had said, could work wonders.

“Come in,” Aya called, arching her back as the final touch.

The door opened to reveal a man she’d never seen before. He appeared much richer than Aya’s usual clientele of wellman and merchants. He wore a three-piece suit made entirely of purple velvet and embroidered with gold filigree. Atop his head sat a matching top hat with a wide black ribbon wrapped around it. His eyes were beady and obscured behind small, round glasses. Aya thought they were looking at her, but it was difficult to tell from across the room.

“Aya Cogsmith?”

Aya pushed herself upright. Her clients were not supposed to know her name. In fact, even the seediest merchants, the ones who’d despised her father and paid extra to be assured of her identity, didn’t say her full name.

“Yes, my lord?” She slowly curled into herself.

“Oh, good. I am in the right room.” The man closed the door behind him.

“A fan of my father, were you?” Aya knew the quip could get her slapped—or worse—but she didn’t care. How dare this man use her family name before he bedded her.

“What? No.” The man placed a gloved hand over his heart. “Please, dear, cover yourself up. I’m not here for any of that nonsense.”

Aya sat up and pulled the folds of her skirt over her legs. She swept her hair to the front so that her curls hid her cleavage. The man walked over to her, slipped a white glove off his right hand, and extended it to her. “I’m Lord Ulberion Varick, the Marquess of the Stern. You may call me Varick.”

Aya reached up, placing only her fingertips into his hand. “Hello, Lord Varick.” Aya spoke carefully. “I’m Aya Cogsmith, but it seems you know that.”

“Just Varick, please. And yes, I happen to know a lot about you, Miss Aya. You see, I live right up there.” Varick lifted up his ivory walking cane and tapped the ceiling, “At the very top of the palace’s stern. I watch over Sternville and its inhabitants.”

Aya allowed her eyes to drift from Lord Varick to the ceiling and back down. As they scanned his suit, Aya nearly scoffed. He didn’t watch over Sternville too closely, or he would have been ashamed to wear something so lavish in a poor woman’s presence.

Lord Varick smiled. His teeth were pointed. “I realize you may be a bit shocked by the nature of my visit here. Shall I explain myself more precisely?”

Aya squinted. “Please do, Lord Varick.”

“Ah, ah! Just Varick, thank you.” Varick pointed to the bed beside Aya. She scooted over to allow him to sit next to her, wincing as her knees flexed. She kept her shoulders square and her hands in her lap. Varick’s intentions seemed to be truly conversational, but she wasn’t going to create any opportunities for the interaction to turn physical.