Page 6 of Juliet's Touch
“Sit.” She pointed at the settee.
He obeyed.
She glided to the bedside table and poured him a drink from her pitcher. Her hips swayed, and the hem of her silk dress swished around her ankles as she carried the cup across the room and sat opposite him. Age had not dimmed her allure. What man, besides Eric, wouldn’t want her? She smelled of roses and desire, after all.
He chugged the warm water in one massive gulp, then brushed his sleeve over his mouth.
“Malestorm was here today,” she said as breezily as if she were discussing the weather. However, she couldn’t fool Eric; the despicable man’s visit had unnerved her. Her fingers quivered as she twisted her hands in her skirt.
Meeting her gaze, he waited for her to continue.
“He raised my rent again. He said he will lower it if he has free rein over the girls.”
Free rein to demand lewd sexual favors and demean them. The bloody blighter wasn’t any better than the violent Riley.
“I refused his offer.” Auntie swallowed. “So now I may have to use some of our savings to pay the increased rent.”
If this blackmail continued, they’d never be able to buy a new building and free the women from Malestorm’s machinations.
“I needed you to know the truth,” she said. “But you can’t hurt him. I can’t have you locked up in the local jail.”
Eric stood and placed his cup on a side table. He tossed the coins she’d given him beside it.
Auntie grasped his forearm. “Promise me you won’t confront him.”
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
“Are you going out again tonight?” she asked.
Eric nodded.
“Please don’t get hurt. I can’t lose you, my boy. I’ve already lost your…”
They’d both lost the person they loved most that long-ago night when a three-fingered blackguard snuffed his mother’s life. He should tell Auntie he’d be careful, but that was a lie.
“You won’t find him, Eric. It has been years.” She sighed. “No man of seven and twenty should lead such an austere life. You should enjoy yourself. Make some friends. Find a woman to love.”
He would never stop looking for the man who’d taken his mother from him, even if it took him forever. Recently, he’d extended his search outside the East End. Unfortunately, ridding the city of villains had slowed down his search. Steadying his breath, he strolled out of Auntie’s chamber, down the hall, and up the back stairwell to his room in the attic.
Once he was clad in black, he slid his mask over his head—that is, if one could call a threadbare sack with eye holes a mask—and grabbed his bag. Opening his window, he climbed onto the roof, hopped onto a large branch, then shimmied down the trunk of an ancient oak.
