The Trouble With Sin (Devilish Vignettes (the Devil DeVere) #2)(12)

Harris shook his head. "It would require far too much time and effort before I would see any return on my investment."

Knowing he'd been played, Simon groaned. "Bloody hell! Just take their initial expenses out of what you owe me. Must you exploit me at every turn?"

"'Ye would do that fer us, Simon?" Brigid asked.

"Aye. I could hardly leave you to the vultures." Unfortunately, by the time Harris added his premium to all that the girls would need, he'd find himself once more with pockets to let. Simon looped an arm around each voluptuous feminine bundle. "Mister Harris runs an exceptionally orderly 'disorderly house’. He has more than adequate accommodations above stairs and will furnish all of your needs. As to the town polish you require, I would be more than happy to engage my own services."

"What do ye mean?" Brigid asked.

"I shall tutor you both in speech and deportment."

"You?" Bronaugh giggled.

"Aye, me! Don't look so surprised. God knows I've spent far more time in the company of women than with my own gender." He didn't add that it would also save him considerable coin. "Will the arrangement suit?"

"Aye!" they answered in a delighted chorus. "'Ye'll soon eat them wards, Mister Harris," said Bronaugh. "With Simon's help, we'll not be common hars fer long. You just see if some foin gent don't take us into high keepin'."

"Any man would be a fool to pass you up," Simon gallantly replied.

Harris shook his head. "Always the gentleman, eh, Singleton? Even to the commonest whore."

"All women are deserving of gentle treatment, Harris, no matter their circumstances."

Simon's suspected his soft heart for women would be his ruin, but the fair sex provided his greatest joy and delight. Simon worshipped women, exalting in soft, feminine curves that molded perfectly to a man's body, in the silkiness of their hair, in the lushness of a knowledgeable mouth. The tantalizing scent of feminine musk…their taste…. drove him to distraction.

Simon rose and took possession of each of their hands, raising them in turn to his lips. "But why to one man should woman be possessed? Is it not better she should the numbers bless? For all smell the rose, but is its scent any less? Adieu, my pets. As I am late to meet some companions, I commend you darlings unto Harris' gentle keeping."

Simon departed the tavern with a raffish grin stretching his mouth. Twins, begad! 'Twas a wet dream come true!

***

"So, you grace us with your presence at last!" remarked DeVere. "We expected you an hour ago, Sin."

"I had some business that required my immediate attention." Simon flipped back his coat skirts, spun the chair around to straddle it backward, and then pilfered Ned's tankard. Draining it dry, he wiped his grinning mouth with the back of his hand.

DeVere smirked. "I must say I admire the manner in which you've managed to employ your talents."

"I only seek to raise a low and much-despised vocation to a higher level," Simon replied.

Ned signaled the drawer to replace the drink Simon had pinched. "And what vocation would that be?"

"Has Sin not told you, Ned? He's taken Harris' directory of Covent Garden whores to poetic heights."

Ned sat back, appraising Simon from beneath furrowed brows. "So, you've become a pimp?"

"My dear Ned, Harris provides a valuable service," Simon protested.

"By vetting whores like racehorses? Bollacks!" Ned exclaimed.

"Come now, Ned," DeVere protested. "Don't be such a prig!"

Ned shook his head and took a pull on his drink. "A spade is a bloody spade—and a pimp, however poetically inclined, is still a pimp. Does Harris present this list of his right alongside the supper menu?"

"One should always contemplate desert." DeVere quipped. "Have you perchance a copy, Sin? I am intrigued to see this infamous book."

"As a matter of fact, I have the proof sheets." Simon retrieved a bound bundle from his coat pocket and handed it to his friend.

DeVere slumped in his chair, gnawing his lower lip as he perused the pages. "Polly Nimblewrist?" He regarded Simon with a raised brow. "Really, Sin?"

Simon chuckled. "Some ladies prefer to adopt a colorful moniker to highlight their particular talents."

DeVere flipped idly to another page. "Her gaze belies the flame within, and her mouth would tempt a saint to sin?"

"A well-earned accolade." Simon winked.

DeVere's mouth twitched. "It appears this so-called literary endeavor includes some perquisites?" DeVere continued to another page. "Do not venture where such danger lies, but shun the sight of her victorious eyes’?" His gaze shot up.

"I should think that one is self-explanatory. At last report, she was frothing black saliva."

DeVere shuddered and closed the book. "Mercury treatment is not a guaranteed cure for the pox."

Ned asked, "Are you not still bound for the clergy, Sin?"

Simon heaved a deep sigh. "It is my dear Mama's fondest wish for me to join the church, but I fear my nature is quite incompatible with a theological vocation. I have searched deeply, and cannot seem to summon an inkling of pious sentiment, which makes me an exceedingly poor candidate for the clergy."