One Night Scandal (28 page)
“Oh? You run this house. You already said that you lay with whomever you please. You are a strumpet.”
Before she could try to deny her profession again, he strode to the door and down the stairs. He passed a footman on his way up the steps with a bottle of fine brandy on a silver salver. Anthony grabbed the bottle and ran from the house of horrors.
He raced down Maddox Street until he nearly collapsed at the side entrance to St. George’s Church. After sitting down on the brick step, he opened the bottle of brandy and gulped a large amount down.
How?
How had his mother kept herself from them all these years? Hadn’t she cared about her children, if not her husband? She was alive. The past eight years had been a complete farce, which made him nothing but a fool for believing everything Father had ever told him.
A prostitute.
A common strumpet.
His mother was no better than a lightskirt. And even worse, his father had known all along. His father had lied to him . . . and his sister. Genna didn’t even remember her mother. His sister had been only two when the whore had left. If it ever came out that their mother was a prostitute, his sister would be ruined.
Genna must never discover the truth.
A cold November rain dampened his breeches. He pulled his legs in under the archway of the stoop and took another long draught of the stolen brandy to chase the chill away. He couldn’t go home drunk and furious. First, he had to determine exactly what he would say to his lying father when he confronted him.
He’d never felt so lost and alone in all his life. Not even when his mother had died. He shook his head. But she wasn’t dead. She left them to go sell herself to anyone who would have her. He dropped his head to his knees.
How could she have left her children?
The rain turned to a steady downpour as he sat there drinking the brandy. His mind turned hazy as he watched the carriages drive by his spot. Suddenly something, or rather someone, stumbled over his feet in an effort to be out of the rain.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled. “You almost spilled my brandy.”
Blinking, he tried to get his eyes to focus on the small body huddled in the opposite corner. The fresh scent of oranges washed over him. It was her. His orange blossom. The woman he’d truly wanted tonight.
“It doesn’t appear to be much left in the bottle,” she replied, holding it up.
“Help yourself.”
“I intend to.” She held the bottle up to her lips and drank some down.
Fascinated, Anthony stared at her slender neck as she tilted her head back and drank from the bottle. “Who are you?”
“No one.” She handed the bottle back to him. “Thank you.”
“Why are you here?”
She laughed softly. “The same reason as you, to get out of the rain.” She shivered and her teeth chattered.
He pushed the bottle back toward her. “Drink.”
She accepted it back greedily. “Th—thank you again. It’s helpin’ me get warmer.” She sipped some more before asking, “What’s yer name?”
He hesitated just a moment. “Tony.” Although, only Genna called him that. “Why were you out selling oranges so late tonight?”
“I tried to sell all the oranges. Today wasn’t a good day.”
“No. Definitely not a good day,” he agreed, staring at the basket half full of fruit.
“Did you lose too much gamblin’ tonight?”
“How did you know I’d been gaming?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Isn’t that what most young bucks do? It’s either gamblin’ or whorin’.”
Maybe she wasn’t the innocent she pretended to be, he thought. “Actually, I won a substantial sum tonight,” he said, pride lacing his voice. “What do you do with your money?”
“You mean the measly amount I get by sellin’ oranges?” She pressed her lips together. “I just try to get ahead.”
He shifted and his shoulder collided with hers. A jingle of coins rang from the pocket in his coat. “What if I offered to buy the rest of your lot?”
“I don’t take charity. I work for the extra money I need.”
“Hmm, a woman with scruples.” He inched closer to her warmth. “I like that.”
“I should get home,” she whispered.
“Don’t.”
She turned her head toward his. Mere inches separated them. The urge to move slightly until his lips touched hers was almost too much to resist. Would she taste sweet like the oranges she sold?
“Have another sip.” He shifted away and handed her the bottle.
“I have to go.” She scrambled to her feet and picked up her basket. “I—”
He stood up quickly. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered, trapping her between the stone and his body.
“No,” she whispered.
“I need a woman who isn’t like her,” he muttered.
Anthony brought his lips to hers. Pulling her to him, he slid his tongue across her lips until she opened for him. Drowning in a desire as he’d never felt before, he knew he had to have her. He needed her comfort, her softness. As he brought his hand to cup her breast, he heard her gasp.
“No,” she cried softly. “Not like this.”
Only Anthony was far too gone to understand her meaning.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2011 by Christie Kelley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-0878-1
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