The Harlot (4 page)

Mister Ramsay gestured. “Go. Clean yourself up. Be quick about it.”

He was making plans for their time together, Jessie realized. Well, so was she. Her curiosity about his situation was building. Besides, the sooner they were done with this, the sooner she could get back to Dundee to claim her earnings from Ranald, and then escape to the north. With both purses.

Meanwhile this man seemed intent on proceeding with this ludicrous instruction. If there was one thing she was sure of in this world, it was that she was able to turn a man's head. Her year of whoredom had taught her much in that respect. But she would attempt to go along with his plan while collecting his coin. As Jessie strode off, she couldn't help but wonder again what kind of man his enemy was.

The serving girl awaited her. Unsure what to do, Jessie pulled off her torn shift. The girl gestured at the large pail and Jessie stepped into it. “I will aid you, miss,” said the young woman, pushing up her sleeves.

Jessie was mortified at the idea of being scrubbed by another woman. On the rare occasion she'd afforded a full wash, she had shared the experience with women, but never had she been bathed by another person before. She knew that ladies of wealth had such things done, but she was not one of those. “I can do this myself.”

The young woman continued with her task. “I would rather be scrubbing yourself, miss,” she said in a forthright manner, “than scrubbing the floors downstairs.”

Jessie shrugged. That was understandable, but neither was she going to stand there in silence throughout. “What is your name?”

“Morag, Miss.”

The water was still warm and she wriggled her toes.

Morag picked up a cloth and began to sluice the water up her legs.

Jessie's cheeks flamed. “Tell me about this place. Is the Drover's Inn well frequented of an evening?” She vaguely recalled the reek of stale ale when they had reached the inn. Two men had slumbered over a table in one corner, fists still tightly locked around their tankards, when she'd walked through the place.

Morag picked up a jug and filled it with water from the pail. “Tip back your head, miss.” Jessie did so and the girl poured it through her hair and over her shoulders. “Most days we are kept busy, and especially so when it is market day in Saint Andrews. The farmers stop here on their way home. They spend some of their earnings if they have had good sales.”

Jessie found herself thinking that might be a good source of
custom, before she reminded herself that was not why she was here. It was to Mister Ramsay that she answered. Just then she noticed that he was pacing back and forth outside the door, glancing in as he passed. “And who else lodges here?”

Morag was armed with her washcloth. Unceremoniously, she lifted each of Jessie's arms and scrubbed her pits. “People come and go.” She shrugged and pushed her sleeves higher. “Mostly they only spend the one night in order to break their journey and rest their horses in the stable.”

That did not sound very interesting. Jessie shot the girl a conspiratorial look. “Mister Ramsay is the only gentleman who has taken rooms for longer?”

“There is one other gentleman, Mister Grant. He stops here for longer. He's an excise man.” Morag paused and her eyes rounded. “Oh, we aren't supposed to put that about.”

Jessie chuckled. “An excise man never is a well-loved person. Do not fret. I will not pass the word along.”

“Thank you.”

Mister Ramsay was now standing in the doorway, his shoulder resting against the frame, arms loosely folded across his chest as he stared blatantly at her naked form. Jessie noticed that his shirt was made of good quality cotton, and it fell softly about his collarbone, where his skin was tanned. The column of his neck and his jawbone were both strong and distinctive. The fine leather breeches he wore drew her gaze. It was the first time she had been able to appreciate him in a good light. The fact that he wanted her for another man was a damn nuisance.

This was the first time he had seen her entirely naked, she realized, and he was no doubt checking the goods he had purchased. His gaze was cool and assessing, and yet it kindled heat in her, making her wish he had bought her for his own pleasure. Still, she could make the best of it. Despite her better
judgment, she wanted Mister Ramsay to dally with her as he had in Dundee, not give her lessons.

When she saw him admiring her breasts, she lifted her wet hair and turned this way and that. His eyes grew darker for a moment, and he clearly lost track of his thoughts. It was good to know that she could distract him if she wanted to. These things were important. Her plans ticked on.

“Your cousin seems very fond of you, miss,” Morag commented beneath her breath as she worked.

Jessie laughed softly. She liked the maid, she decided. The young woman was a practical sort. “He certainly seems to appreciate the view.”

Morag smiled and pushed her sponge lower, between Jessie's thighs.

Mister Ramsay's stare followed.

Jessie ran her hands over her breasts. When the sponge moving back and forth between her legs stimulated her cunny, she let her head drop back, and sighed loudly.

To her surprise—for he had looked as if he were enjoying what he saw—he strode over, plucked the linen from the washstand and wrapped it around Jessie from behind, covering her up.

“You dally, my dear,” he whispered close to her ear, his voice like velvet, “and we must begin work.”

Jessie swayed when she felt his warm breath against the side of her face. Then he rubbed at her with the linen, his large hands measuring her at waist and hip. The desire to couple with him swelled at her center. She recalled how easily he had lifted her. How good it had felt when he had rammed her up against the wall of that cell and his sturdy length had thrust inside her.

Morag rose to her feet, drying her hands on her apron.

“Do you have clothing you could lend my cousin?” he asked. “Her own was torn on the journey.”

Morag nodded.

“Please fetch it.”

She curtsied and shot off.

They were alone. Jessie turned to face him expectantly, her desire simmering. “How thoughtful you are, sire.”

One corner of his mouth was lifted, but he shook his head. “A used sack would have been preferable to the filth you were wearing. Now dress and be quick about it. You are here for a purpose and there is work to be done.”

He spoke with absolute authority, then draped the linen over her shoulder and turned away, leaving her to finish the task.

Jessie stared after him with a pout. He was a strange sort, and she found it hard to predict his reactions. Given time, though, she was sure she would know him well enough to do so. It was her goal.

The borrowed clothing arrived and Morag helped her into it, lacing the stays and the bodice of the dress tightly, for Morag was larger than she. When she had tied back her hair, Morag went out onto the landing and shouted for help. The lad reappeared. The pair of them cleared away the pails and took their leave.

As soon as Jessie joined him, Mister Ramsay dragged a chair away from the table, scraping it noisily across the wooden boards, and set it in the middle of the room.

Jessie stood by expectantly.

Resting his hands on the back of the chair, he began. “I need you to be committed to this task. Are you willing?”

Her mouth twitched with annoyance. Of course she was not willing. “You have not yet said much about it.”

“I need you to insinuate yourself into a wealthy man's house and gain his trust by seduction.”

“For what purpose?”

“To aid me in bringing about his downfall.” Ramsay paused. “Retribution for a past injustice.”

“I understand.”

“Does the nature of the task offend you?”

“No.” She laughed softly. “Did you expect me to balk?”

“I need to be sure.”

For some reason her sponsor suspected she had doubts about the act of seduction, and his reasons for needing it to take place. That was not what riled her; he did. “Have you forgot ten what I am? A whore takes custom where she can. There will be little difference for me, except I will be paid by you instead of him.”

He nodded, the question apparently settled to his satisfaction. Meanwhile Jessie's curiosity raged about the old enemy he had mentioned, and what their history was. Folding her hands in front of her, she met his gaze. “If you want me to play a part, my performance would be much richer if you would tell me why I need to do so. What is your grievance with this man?”

The slight flicker in his cheeks revealed his annoyance. “All you need to know at this stage is that you are to gain a position of trust within his household.”

Jessie wondered why Ramsay did not want to tell her more. “When you say trust, do you mean that he must trust me with his secrets, or with his silver?”

He gave a wry smile. “I knew you were a canny lass, the moment I saw you…performing.”

That pleased her. It was not often that people gave her the chance to show she was good for more than opening her legs.
She had a sharp mind, given half a chance to prove it. “And the answer to my question is…?”

“Both. I want you to have access to his silver and his secrets.” He moved to take the chair he had positioned, facing her. “I want you to listen to what is said, and to observe his business arrangements.”

Jessie nodded, admiring the way Mister Ramsay looked when he sprawled in the simple wooden chair. His long legs stretched across the floor toward her, crossed at the ankle. All of that strength and virility had been hidden under his costume when she had first seen him. What a pleasure it had been to discover it that night, and to observe him now.

“For that you will need to lure him and gain his trust.” With one elbow resting on the back of the chair, Ramsay gestured fluidly with the other hand. “Tell me, for example, how you might go about offering yourself to a man of wealth, in your everyday occupation.”

There was curiosity in his expression. She was sorely tempted to tease and taunt him, but she did not want him to withdraw his assessment of her wit. Once he accepted that as fact, she would offer more of her opinion. Meanwhile, she would reel him in—just to show him exactly how able she was to seduce a man.

“My feeling is a woman has to be more cautious in her approach and allow a man of wealth to believe he has plucked a freshly ripening fruit, one that is perhaps not as soiled as the other wenches he might have encountered on the street.”

Thoughtfully, Ramsay nodded. “Yes, you are right there.”

Jessie could not help herself; she rolled her eyes. “Are you thinking of yourself now, or this enemy of yours?”

He lifted a brow. “I was thinking of my enemy. He has taken many an innocent maiden without regret.”

“And you—is innocence your preference, too?”

“This is not about me. Please keep that in mind.” Nevertheless, he was amused. His gaze raked over her. “Since you have asked, I prefer women who enjoy the carnal act.”

Her blood raced. He had enjoyed their tryst in the cell. She thought he had, but afterward, when she'd learned his reason for rescuing her, she wasn't so sure.

“There is more pleasure in mutual exchange with a woman who knows what she is about,” he added, “than in the corruption of innocence for the sake of it.”

Jessie was beginning to get a better picture of both him and his enemy. Had the man stolen Mister Ramsay's sweetheart? she wondered. “I'm sorry, sire, I did not mean to interrupt your…instruction, with my question about your preference.”

He laughed softly, and she had the feeling he read her better than she could presently read him, which was rather annoying.

“You are a distraction, Jessie, I'll admit that, but that is why I sought you out for the task.” With a flick of his wrist, he gestured at the floor. “Imagine that you have secured a position as his servant. I have thought on it, and this seems the best way to gain access to the information I need.” His eyebrows gathered. “Although I'm not quite sure how we will gain you that position. It needs thought.”

“That is no great challenge.”

His expression lifted. “You have an idea?”

It pleased her that she had brought about that change in his mood. “Perhaps. Is it a large household?”

“Yes, I estimate a dozen or so servants, plus stable hands and groundsmen.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “It is easy to make work in such a place, and an extra pair of hands is welcome when chaos occurs. Leave that to me. It will be done.”

That requirement would easily be helped along with a touch of magic, and if that hurried the task, it might be worth the risk. She would keep that part to herself, though. For some reason he had dismissed the ousting he had witnessed, and that suited her well. Changing the subject, she asked, “You want me to pretend to polish the floor at your feet?”

“Aye, but do it in a way that I…he, might find alluring.” Ramsay's gaze lingered on her when she smiled in response to his error.

Each and every time he looked at her that way desire simmered expectantly in the pit of her belly. There was a mighty tug between them. Why then was he apparently able to sit there so easily? Yes, he wanted her for another man, yet the way they had coupled that first night proved they were well matched when it came to pleasures of the flesh. Even though she had her own destiny to follow, she would take anything she received from him along the way. Jessie had never been rescued from the gallows before, and that experience—after such a fine mutual tumble—was beginning to settle well in her memory now. As she lowered herself to her knees before him, she vowed to make him claim her again.

At first she was dazzled by the late spring sunshine behind his head as she tried to see him. His figure, dark and looming, was absolutely still. She put her hand to her eyes to shield them while she grew accustomed to it. Then she took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.