Page 72 of Juliet's Touch

Chapter twenty-two

Fromherhidingplace,Juliet watched Eric’s shadow moving around the brothel’s attic. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew that the impressive breadth of chest and chiseled profile belonged to both Eric and Knight Roamer.

Ashamed of her naivety, she moaned. How could she have fallen for Eric’s smooth-tongued fabrications? He’d told her that he wasn’t experienced with women, and she’d believed him even though he didn’t touch or kiss like a novice.

Probably because he spends his free time in a brothel, foolish girl.

Obviously, he’d bedded more women than there were stars in the sky. No wonder he wasn’t shocked when he’d come across her with the naughty book. Nothing about sexual intimacy shocked a debauched man.

More fool her.

Her stomach roiled.

Even worse than pretending to be a gentleman with high standards, he’d allowed her to wallow in guilt over havingfeelings for two individuals. ’Twas his loss because she no longer harbored feelings for either man. Adding to her bitterness, she was experiencing guilt over the loss of Emily’s sparkly hairpins that she’d given the hackney driver she’d hired to follow Mr. Fletcher’s carriage to Whitechapel. Unfortunately, they were the only thing of value she had on her person since her reticule was sitting on the dressing table at the Fletchers.

Hugh exited the building and strolled down the steps as nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just been in a house of ill repute; however, he was investigating. She dared not think about what Eric was up to.

Frankly, I don’t give a fig, she told herself. Still, he would know that he hadn’t outsmarted her even if it was the last thing she said to him.

Hugh paused a few arm’s lengths away from her. Certain that he’d seen her, her heartbeat galloped. But then, he pivoted directions, disappearing into the black shroud ensconcing the city.

Sighing in relief, she stepped away from the column she’d hidden behind, boldly striding across the street, then up the front steps of the pink building. She only hesitated for a moment before rolling her shoulders back, pushing on the door, and strolling into the foyer.

A gasp of awe escaped her as she scanned her surroundings. Weren’t brothels supposed to be run-down and squalid? The Pink Petal was anything but. She’d never admit this to a soul, but she found the gold and purple upholstery and velvet drapery to be sensual. Curiosity morphed with her indignant anger, so she puffed up her chest and entered the adjacent room.

A half-dozen women lounged about in various states of undress. In her peripheral vision, someone ducked behind a settee, but she was too busy leering at a dark-haired woman’s voluptuous breasts to give this individual a second thought. Afair-haired woman was circling her fingertip over the darker woman’s exposed nipple. Both women grinned as if their scandalous interaction was pleasurable. A bearded man sat in the chair across from them, watching through half-lidded eyes.

At first, Juliet struggled to look away. Perhaps she’d been shocked into ocular immobility. Although it was more likely that she found the wanton scene arousing. The latter explanation accounted for the tingling in her female bits as well as how quickly her ice-cold nose, fingers, and toes warmed after being exposed to the winter elements.

Swallowing the saliva pooling in her mouth, Juliet averted her gaze to focus on the grand staircase in the distance.

A copper-haired man in a fashionable suit barred her path. “You are new,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. He dragged his heated gaze up and down her body. “Beautiful. Mine. All night.”

As in, he was purchasing her for the night? How titillating.

No. Wait. She was confused.Horrifyingwas the correct descriptor. Tingling body parts aside, she was definitely horrified. Maybe…

Whatever… She hardly looked like a prostitute in her cloak boots, and high neckline. Picking up her skirts, she hurried past him to ascend the main stairwell.

She’d just reached the second-floor landing when a large man seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Flynn Collins at your service. May I help ye, miss?” he asked in a heavy Irish accent.

To the devil with etiquette, she was in a brothel for heaven’s sake. Therefore, Juliet ignored the man and continued her climb. Unfortunately, he followed behind her, the cadence of his steps and his heavy breathing matching her own.

She whirled on him. “I’m here to see Mr. Stone, and I will not be dissuaded, so you might as well…” At a loss for words,she wildly waved her hands as if she was a lunatic. She’d never been this angry, so she had no idea what to do with her inflamed emotions. “Augh!” she grunted.

The man’s eyes widened, and he stepped back.

She continued her march. Perhaps he thought she was deranged because he didn’t follow her.

She was quite winded by the time she reached a small landing. The low archway beside her led to a servant staircase. The door across from her had to lead to the attic. She didn’t bother composing herself; she simply charged through like an angry bull.

Before she had a chance to tell Eric Stone exactly what she thought of his manipulative lies, he wrapped her in his arms and locked his lips on hers.

Juliet should punch Eric in the nose, or bite him hard, or at the very least shove him away from her. She should not have spent the last few minutes kissing the charlatan. But what was she to do? She couldn’t think with his soft lips coaxing the air from her lungs, and his masculine scent intoxicating her. Ironically, as dizzy and muzzy as she’d become, if it weren’t for his sturdy arms anchoring her upright, she’d topple over into a molten heap of boneless flesh. This left her with two unpalatable choices. Either she could be a gullible milksop receiving pleasurable kisses, or she could withdraw from his steadying embrace and fall on her face.

Pulling his mouth from hers, Eric made the decision for her. “Are you calm yet?” he asked.