“How does it work?” She was curious. Mayhap, she’d be in need of it after all, if she was to confidently venture out of this suffocating parlour and go in search of Sinclair’s sister.
“Put a drop or two in his drink. The alderman’s men always enjoy a glass of brandy before the act. It works like a charm after that.” Myra then leaned even closer to whisper, “But you must make it convincing. Afterwards, I mean.”
Jolin’s brow pinched. “Convincing?”
“It’d be best you undressed the man, whoever he is. So that he has no doubts he’s been bedded when he wakes up.”
Dread coursed a path through Jolin’s veins. She’d never seen a naked man before in her entire life. How was she to summon up the courage to undress one? No. She could not do it. It was far too improper.
As improper as you standing here, dressed like a strumpet? She squeezed her eyes shut to ward off her own chiding thoughts. Chancing a glance at Sinclair, who seemed to be having out a subtle row with LeMark, she drew in a shaky breath then released it. “Okay. I guess I could manage that. Might I have the potion?”
Myra looked at her, concern etching her face. “Are you certain?”
Jolin nodded. She wanted to help Sinclair. And they, in turn, would help her locate her father.
“Alright, then.” Myra handed her the bottle and patted her hand. “Madame Rafira had given it to me in case you needed it, anyway. Stash it in your bag.” She then pulled back and eyed her curiously. “Can you flirt, miss?”
“Flirt?” I’m required to flirt too?
“Yes. Flirt. To play the coquette?”
Jolin frowned, stealing a glance across the room at LeMark. The scene at the pub two nights ago suddenly came back to her memory. Could that little act she’d put on after she’d scared the barmaid away from him considered as flirting? She wasn’t quite sure but she was almost certain she’d seen the desire in his eyes. Seen that he’d at least wanted to kiss her. If that was deemed sufficient flirting, then she was certain she could pull that off for another half hour.
Jolin nodded and flashed Myra her most convincing smile. “I assure you, Myra, I can be the most determined flirt when I need to be.”
The girl’s black eyebrows rose a fraction and she tilted her head with doubtful scrutiny. The look then swiftly dissolved and was replaced with an encouraging smile. “Alright, miss. It seems the opportunity to test your skills has arrived.”
“Wha--”
Before she could carefully mask her shock, Myra spun her around and her eyes locked on those off a tall strapping man, his gaze doing a very slow perusal of her body. Her body quivered beneath his obviously lust-filled inspection of her person. The sensation coursing through her body was nothing like when LeMark looked at her. No. Far from it.
She swallowed. This man looked as if he’d bare her right there in the middle of the room and…and--
Heavens, no! She did not want to think of that. And it most certainly would not reach to that. Mustering up some courage, Jolin tightened her grip on the drawstring of her reticule and extended one hand to the guard, batting her lashes slowly, her mouth tipped upwards in a randy smile. Much like the one she’d seen Madame Rafira offer to the alderman some time ago.
She felt Myra give her a nudge in the back as the guard grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, before escorting her towards the door.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” the guard said, licking his lips. “But I can tell you’ll fit just perfectly in my bed.”
Jolin couldn’t help the blush that rose in her cheeks. No gentleman had ever been so forward with her. But she supposed none of the alderman’s guards could be considered as gentlemen.
“I’ve never liked my women shy,” he grinned, brushing a finger across her jaw and down her neck. Jolin fought the urge to bat his hand away and stomp hard on his foot. “But I suppose I can make an exception tonight. You’re far to pretty to pass up on.”
“And I’ve never liked my men talkative,” she heard herself say, holding his gaze. “I much prefer men of…action.”
The guard eyed her curiously, then one corner of his mouth turned up wickedly. Dear Lord, had she been too encouraging of his advances?
“A woman who knows what she wants and is eager to voice it.” His hand slowly dropped from her arm and down to her hip, drawing her against him, so much her hip felt squashed against his thigh as they walked. “Rest assured, madam, you won’t be doing any talking once I’m through with you. If anything, you’ll be begging for a taste of my thick cock.”
Jolin flinched but she quickly masked it by giving him her most artful grin. Truly, the man was a beast. She might just give him the entire bottle of potion so he’d never wake up ever again. But she couldn’t do that. The alderman would surely hang her for losing him one of his men and then what good would that do?
Brushing her palm lightly across the man’s chest, she swallowed with relief as he glanced down at the movement, his eyes almost bulging with desire. Good. Let him think this tryst will end in his favour.
As they now neared the door, Jolin glanced over at LeMark. The look he gave her spoke volumes. He looked quite ready to pounce on the guard and probably give her a tongue-lashing she’d no sooner forget. In fact, in this very moment, he looked most determined to paddle her arse as he’d so threatened to do on several occasions. She could make out the straining muscles of fury in his neck, the stiffness of his stance. If she didn’t know better, LeMark was fixing to approach them.
Panic slammed inside her chest as he took one step and she shook her head subtly enough as to not attract the guard’s attention. LeMark’s mouth twisted but he remained where he was, despite his obvious ire. Jolin saw Sinclair say something to him but LeMark only shrugged his friend off and scowled even deeper, his gaze darker than she’d ever seen before. Darker than when she’d lodged that knife in his thigh back in Dumbar.
Jolin swallowed tightly and averted her gaze. Something told her that she was going to get far more than a tongue-lashing after tonight.
SIXTEEN
Jolin watched with slight alarm as the guard stumbled down on the wide bed, the brandy in his hand spilling over the edge of the glass. His head bobbed with drowsiness but then snapped up again, eyes trained dreamily on her. And then he giggled.
Giggled! For heaven’s sake, she probably should have given the man six drops instead of three. She felt quite mad too. Mad, because she was finally realizing that she’d bitten off far more than she could chew. She should have listened to LeMark. She shouldn’t have agreed to this plan at all, no matter how empathetic she felt towards Sinclair. Jolin nibbled on her lip, her palms pressed on the solid wood of the door behind her. She should flee, run as far away from the alderman’s castle as possible.
She groaned as the guard’s glass thumped to the floor without breaking, the amber liquid spilling on the rug at his feet, and then rolled to a stop beneath the bed. His eyes were intent now--though heavy-lidded--as he motioned for her to join him. Jolin did not move an inch.
“Come now, wench,” he gave with a wobbly grin. “I’m right ready to take you.”
The guard started removing his leather vest and Jolin’s hands shook frantically. What was she to do now? Myra had told her to make it convincing but how the hell was she to do that when the blasted man was still conscious? Wringing her hands before her, she forced her feet to move. She must do this if she was to walk out of here untouched and certainly not pursued by this rapscallion. She was half way across the room when he leaned forward and yanked her hard. A yelp flew from her lips as she found herself crashing down on him, her knees straddling the laughing varlet. Heat and disgust shot through her and she struggled to right herself but his hands clamped tightly around her waist, anchoring her. Then he flexed his hips upwards. She could feel something hard; the…the bulge of his manhood poking against her most intimate parts and anger rocked her being, almost blinding her.
Her hand rose of its own volition and
she dealt him a teeth rattling slap that sent vibrations skidding up her right arm and resounding throughout the chamber. His movement had stilled. She could already make out the red imprint of her palm across his jaw. Jolin held her breath, not even daring to exhale. Regret washed over her like an ice-cold dunk. The guard stared at her for a long moment before he shook his head fiercely and blinked. He blinked two, maybe three more times and his eyes narrowed with outrage and a flicker of strange bemusement.
Drat it all! The man was sure to strangle her now. Seeing her own death flash before her eyes in that very moment, Jolin scampered up but he grabbed her once again, baring his teeth with feral lewdness. Her breath hitched in her chest and bile rose in her throat. Goodness, she was truly the foolest of fools to put herself in this predicament and now she was to lose her virginity to this imbecile.
Oh, God, please! Help me out of this one, and I might just join the convent to show my gratitude!
She could almost imagine God shaking his head and giving her a few well-deserved tsk-tsks. All right, perhaps she wouldn’t pledge herself to the nunnery but she could certainly try amending her obstinate ways. Oh, please, God.
“Like it rough, now do you?” he growled, voice slightly slurred. His palms squeezed over her left breast and tears brimmed in her eyes. “Nice and stiff and soft. Now give me a hearty kiss, wench.”
Jolin struggled, ducking her head sideways as he yanked her downwards. His mouth missed hers and settled on the space between her neck and ear. Her body went absolutely rigid as he exhaled against her throat. Sending up a few more quick prayers to the heavens, she swiftly confessed of the sins she’d committed throughout her life, and making sure to include the one when she’d taken a coin from her father’s study desk when she was thirteen to buy that thick brick of chocolate.
It had taken her a whole minute to rid herself of the burden, and a minute too long to realize that the blonde-haired guard was no longer kissing her, let alone moving at all. Swallowing, she popped one eye open and then the next, to see him laying back against the white linen coverlet, eyes closed in slumber. She was about to touch him just to be sure when a dreadfully nasal snore reached her ears and she snatched her hand back. Jolin fled up off the bed with such haste, she’d almost landed right on her face against the hard stone floor.
Heart pounding, she straightened her décolletage to rights and grabbed up her reticule from the rug. Eyeing the dozing guard once last time, she turned for the door, her hand shaking on the knob.
To hell with what Myra had said. She was most definitely not sticking around to undress that man!
* * *
She’d stormed down a dark but thankfully empty corridor, not knowing quite where she was headed, and had hidden herself outside behind a marble pillar facing a wide rose garden. Jolin hadn’t a clue how long she had been standing there but she needed all the time she could get to regain her fortitude to see the rest of the night through.
In a desperate attempt to quell her still agitated nerves, she squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten, and then did so in reverse back to one again. The cold night air kicked up and she opened her eyes, rubbing her palms over her bare arms. What was she to do? LeMark and Sinclair were still inside in the alderman’s parlour, perhaps hoping she’d find a glimpse of Josephine. But who was she kidding? Jolin did not plan to go back inside that place even if her very own life depended on it. That encounter with the guard still had her feeling rattled and what she wanted most of all was to head back down to the village and scrub her skin clean of the wretch’s scent. Oh God! She’d felt mortified when he’d dragged her down on top of him, even more so when his lips had been pressed against her neck. The memory alone sent a slither of nausea up her middle and she sucked in a few sharp breaths to force back the bitterness welling in her throat.
Her sweet Mama must be tossing in her grave right now and her poor father… God’s teeth. Her father, if he were to ever see her like this, would most likely give her a fine walloping and then see that she was properly locked up for the rest of her life. Not that she’d wrong him if he did, for she was feeling most--and she suspected, also quite belatedly--contrite and repentant at the moment.
Sighing, she leaned against the cold stone wall and lifted her gaze to the sky. The full moon shone in all it’s glory, casting a spotlight over the lush shrubberies of the garden, the night dew on the verdant leaves sparkling like crystal gems. Around the corner, she could hear heavy footsteps, possibly two or three men, approaching and she shrunk deeper into the shadows, grateful for the width of the pillar. She held her breath until the footsteps had echoed out of earshot and then released it. Mercy, this was all too much to handle in one night.
Smoothing her sweaty palms over her thighs, Jolin stole a glance around the pillar and moaned with relief when she saw no one. Easing back again, she then reached backwards for the support of the wall only to find her fingers tangling with... A face?
A shriek exploded from her mouth and she clamped her hand over it instantly, spinning so fast her head spun. If she hadn’t still had an ounce of grit left in her spine after the abrupt fright, she would not have believed what she was now seeing. Standing behind her, with two big bewildered eyes narrowed on her, was a little girl, barefoot and dressed in a white flannel nightgown. Jolin gaped, wondering why a child would be out here, all alone and at this ungodly hour.
“Aren’t you cold?” came the tiny voice.
The girl could not be past seven or eight years old. Jolin swallowed. The girl was quite adorable, two long thick plaits hung over the front of her shoulders, her rich green eyes expectant. There was something warm and arresting about those eyes.
“I am.” She rubbed her palms over her arms again and glanced cautiously around them. “Aren’t you? Where are your shoes?”
The girl shrugged and started to toy with the end of one braid. “I like the cold. And I don’t really like shoes.” Then she looked up and grinned, revealing tiny white teeth, save for the empty space near the middle of the top row. As if noticing the direction of Jolin’s stare, she giggled. “I lost that one just this morning. Want to see?”
Jolin smiled, despite her desperate need to leave. Kneeling before the child, she nodded, and the girl reached inside the pocket of her gown and withdraw a tiny tooth. “You should place it beneath your pillow when you go to sleep. The faeries will visit you and leave you a token.”
The child’s eyes widened. “Honest?”
Jolin bit back a grin. It was refreshing to encounter one so innocent on such a horrid night. She supposed children were always meant to lighten one’s spirit no matter how awful the situation. “Yes. I used to do it all the time when I was a little girl.”
The little doll smiled and secured her tooth back inside her pocket. “I wonder what kind of token I’ll receive. I want a pony but my Mama says I’m not old enough yet.”
Jolin chuckled. “Well, I hardly think a pony can be properly stashed under your pillow, sweetie. Perhaps, a doll would do?”
She scrunched up her nose but sighed. “I suppose a doll would be alright too. What is your name? I’m Catherine. But my Mama calls me Cat.”
“That’s a pretty name, Catherine. I’m Jolin. My Papa calls me ‘Lin’ most of the time, but only uses ‘Jolin’ when he’s cross with me.”
Catherine looked at her strangely for a moment before the corners of her mouth drooped and her lovely face took on a crestfallen expression. Jolin frowned wondering what could sadden her so all of sudden.
“My Papa never calls me anything,” she said, chin dipping. “He yells all the time and never ever wants to see me. My Mama says I shouldn’t bother him lest he gets too angry.”
Jolin’s heart sank at Catherine’s words. Her Papa must be a veritable beast to disregard such a sweet little girl. The sound of her soft sobbing almost broke Jolin’s heart and she pulled the child close to embrace her.
“It’ll be alright, sweet pea.” She rocked back and forth, hugging Catherine
’s tiny body to her own. “You’ll be quite all right.”
Catherine nodded and pulled back, wiping her tears. “I should go back to bed now before my nurse notices,” she said, hugging her once again. “Thanks, Jolin.”
And with that, the girl scampered off, bare-footed and all, down the corridor and disappearing around a bend. Jolin smiled and eased to her feet, brushing a dash of dirt from her knees. Little Catherine was surely a gem. The sort that made her heart twitch with longing. A longing that Jolin hadn’t quite felt in a long time. The type of a longing that involved children; having a family of her own.
Sighing, she turned to lean her side against the pillar, her mind toiling with thoughts of the little girl. Would Catherine’s father’s inattentiveness make her grow bitter or would it only give her the strength to tackle the harshness of the world?
The Strength of Baffin Page 11
