A Mortal Bane(73)

“That is impossible,” she said. “You cannot seek the solution to a murder of which I have been accused at the same time that you are playing games in my bed. Everyone would laugh at any solution you presented and say you were merely accusing another to cover my guilt.”

[page]“They are saying it already,” he snapped, “and will say it no matter how pure I am, so why should I not have what I desire?”

She shook her head numbly. She had liked and trusted Bell, welcomed what seemed like a friendly alliance. She had believed he was fair and honest; instead, he was worse than the others. Mostly they made their demands at once, openly; he had offered a partnership and then used her confidence to demand she bribe him with her body to…and then she realized he had asked her price. He had not demanded her service as a bribe. He had asked her price.

Shame brought a flood of color to her face. Shame? Of what had she to be ashamed? She was a whore. And being a whore had brought her freedom—now that she had won her way up to a place where she could say “no” when she wished. What was wrong with her? Having a man ask her price had not wakened shame in her for nearly ten years; mostly it had amused her, since she had women to do the actual work.

“Oh, do forgive me,” she said. “How thoughtless of me to assume that you came here on the bishop’s business rather than your own.” She curved her lips into a smile. “How obtuse you must have found me, talking about the murder and William and never giving you a chance—”

“How much?”

The voice was a low, rough snarl, the eyes fixed, furious, and his face redder than she thought hers had been. Magdalene could feel her blush fade to pallor. She dropped her hand to the basket that sat beside her stool and grasped the small knife she used for cutting thread. It was not a real weapon, but the sting of being cut or stabbed by it nearly always startled an attacker enough for her to scream and break free. In the kitchen there were weapons enough, and Dulcie to help her, and a scream would likely bring Somer de Loo, and possibly the other clients, to her rescue.

“At this hour the price is five pennies,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady, “but that includes the evening meal, breakfast, and entertainment for the whole night. However” —Magdalene took a firm grip on the knife and made sure it was not tangled in any hank of yarn— “you would have to wait until Letice or Sabina were free. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I no longer take clients.”

He blinked as if she had slapped him, and cleared his throat. “You no longer take clients?”

To Magdalene’s amazement, the question did not explode in a shout of fury over her refusal. His voice was calm, maybe a trifle flatter than usual, and the high color was fading from his face.

“Not for many years,” Magdalene assured him. The last thing she wanted was for him to fly into a rage again because he thought she found him unattractive or was rejecting him for some other personal reason. “Not since Ella and the other women came to work for me. I…I have no real taste for making the beast with two backs, although I enjoy managing this place. And I have taken care to choose women who do have a taste for their work. Letice or Sabina will provide you with far greater pleasure than I would.”

He smiled slowly, a real smile, not a stiff rictus of the lips. “I thank you, but I have no desire whatsoever to lie with any of your women. It is not carnal relief I desire, but you.”

Magdalene, who had started to relax when he seemed so calm, tensed again. Nervously, she shook her head. “It is useless to desire me. I no longer sell my body to any man who has my price, and I have no other reason to lie with you.”