The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(46)

“It’s a good thing I’d planned to leave today anyway,” she muttered to Jock as they crossed the kitchens.

There was a great flurry of activity in the kitchen. Maids scurried and the footmen helped bring in a mountain of luggage. Anna was hardly acknowledged as she climbed the dark back stair. Just as well. She and Jock moved soundlessly down the upper hall. Anna opened the door to her room and found Pearl anxiously waiting.

“Oh, thank God you’re back, Mrs. Wren,” the other woman said when she saw her.

“I took Jock for a walk,” Anna said. “Was that Coral’s marquis I saw coming in the front?”

“Yes,” Pearl said. “Coral wasn’t expecting him for another week or more. He’ll be angry if he finds she has guests.”

“I was just going to pack and leave, so I’ll be out of his way.”

“Thank you, ma’am. That’ll make it ever so much easier for Coral, it will.”

“But what will you do, Pearl?” Anna bent to drag out her soft bag from under the bed. “Coral said she wanted you here with her. Will the marquis let you stay?”

Pearl picked at a hanging thread on her cuff. “Coral thinks she can get him to let me stay, but I don’t know. He’s awful mean sometimes, even if he is a lord. And the house belongs to him, you know.”

Anna nodded her understanding as she carefully folded her stockings.

“I’m glad Coral has such a nice place to live, with servants and carriages and things,” Pearl said slowly. “But that marquis makes me nervous.”

Anna paused with a handful of clothes in her arms. “You don’t think he would hurt her, do you?”

Pearl stared back somberly. “I don’t know.”

EDWARD PROWLED THE bordello room like a caged tiger denied a meal. The woman was late. He checked the china clock over the hearth again. Half an hour late, damn her. How dare she make him wait for her? He reached the fireplace and stared into the blaze. He’d never obsessively gone back to the same woman. Not once, not twice, but three times now.

The sex had been so good each time. She was so responsive. She had held nothing back, acting like she was as much under his spell as he was under hers. He was not naïve. He knew women who were paid for sex often faked an excitement they did not feel. But a body’s natural reaction could not be faked. She had been wet, literally soaked, in her desire for him.

He groaned. The thought of her wet * was having a predicable effect on his cock. Where the hell was she?

Edward swore and pushed himself away from the mantelpiece to resume his pacing. He’d even begun to daydream, in the manner of a starry-eyed stripling, about what her face looked like underneath the mask. More disturbing, he had imagined that she might look like Anna.

He stopped and placed the crown of his head against the wall, hands braced on either side. His chest expanded as he breathed deeply. He had come to London to rid himself of this awful fascination for his little secretary before he married. Instead, he’d found a new obsession. But had that stopped the original fixation? Oh, no. His longing for Anna had not only grown stronger, but was also mingled with lust for the mysterious little whore. He had two obsessions now instead of one, and they were tangled together in his overwrought brain.

He pounded his head against the wall. Perhaps he was going mad. That would explain everything.

Of course, none of this mattered to his cock. Mad or sane, it was still overeager to feel the woman’s tight, slippery sheath. He stopped banging his head against the wall and looked at the clock again. She was thirty-three minutes late now.

By God’s balls, he wasn’t going to wait another minute more.

Edward snatched his coat up and slammed out of the room. Two gray-haired gentlemen were strolling down the hall. They took one look at his face and pressed to the side as he stormed past. He ran down the grand staircase two risers at a time and stalked into the parlor where the male customers went to mingle and meet disguised ladies and whores. He scanned the gaudy room. There were several women in bright colors, each surrounded by eager men, but only one woman wore a golden mask. She was taller than the other females and stood apart, alert to the currents in the room. Her full-face mask was smooth and serene, the eyebrows symmetrical incised arcs above the almond-shaped eyeholes. Aphrodite watched over her wares with a beady eagle eye.

Edward strode directly to her. “Where is she?” he demanded.

The madam, normally an unflappable woman, jerked at his sudden question by her side. “Lord Swartingham, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Where is the woman I was to meet tonight?”

“She isn’t in your room, my lord?”

“No.” Edward grit his teeth. “No, she isn’t in the room. Would I be down here asking after her if she were up in the room?”

“We have many other willing ladies, my lord.” The madam’s voice sounded ingratiating. “Perhaps I can send another to your room?”

Edward leaned forward. “I don’t want another. I want the woman I had last night and the night before. Who is she?”

Aphrodite’s eyes shifted behind the gold mask. “Now, my lord, you know we can’t reveal the identity of our lovely doves here at the Grotto. Professional integrity, you know.”

Edward snorted. “I don’t give a bloody damn about the professional integrity of a whorehouse. Who. Is. She?”