Secrets of Sin. Chloe HarrisЧитать онлайн книгу.
with the prospect of the task ahead. “Connor,” he said, his decision final, “I do think it is time I take the southern route. I appreciate you doing it for the last few years, but I feel like going to Ronde again myself.” His lips twitched into a sly smile. “I’ll set sail tomorrow morning, so that leaves two more days for you.”
Connor bowed his head as a sign he understood. They had played this particular game before, after all; Reinier would leave and Connor would follow in a few days. If that was really necessary. Quite honestly, Reinier expected it wouldn’t come to that. If she still was who she was, she’d be no match for his honed seductive skills. And speaking of which…
“Madame Poivre said she had someone special for us.”
He didn’t feel guilty about his “leisure” activities, not anymore. What he did here or elsewhere was something men in his position did, period. It was ridiculous that all of a sudden he’d think of it as something damnable.
“Someone special, you say?” Connor’s eyebrows rose with curiosity, distracting Reinier’s pensive mood and pointing it back in the right direction. “Where is she, anyway? I could do with a glass of port.”
At that, the double doors opened and Madame Poivre came in with a tray that held two glasses of the finest wine her excellent establishment offered to only its best of clients.
With her cloying perfume, the much-too-round and much-too-small matron of the maison close of St. George’s dressed a little too indecently for her age and for Reinier’s taste, wore a little too much rouge on her cheeks and lips, and hid her graying hair under an absurdly large turban that bobbed like a pecking robin whenever she moved her head. But Madame Poivre had exquisite taste in deciding whom she’d let work for her. Reinier had to grant her that.
Turning his head, Reinier smiled at her. “Please have a seat, madame, and tell us about this latest and oh-so-special acquisition of yours.” He accompanied his words with a graceful show of his hand, indicating she take the still-empty armchair.
“Ahh,” Madame Poivre set out and nodded. “Certainement.” Her acquired French heritage almost hid her cockney accent completely.
She placed the now-empty tray against the side of the third armchair, then sat down and leaned back, casually folding her legs. Obviously, she enjoyed the men’s attention and drew it out for her own sake. Finally, when she had arranged herself, she declared, “The young woman is completely inexperienced in this métier, messieurs.”
Connor turned to her and interrupted rudely, “But she is not a virgin, is she? If so, I won’t—”
“Oh, no, no!” Madame Poivre shook both her hands like the flopping wings of a butterfly, the turban on her head bouncing in tandem. “She isn’t all that innocent anymore. But she still needs some guidance as to what will be expected from ’er in the future.”
Reinier tilted his head in thought. “Why us, madame?”
Laughing, Madame Poivre’s elbows rested on the arms of the chair while she brought her fingertips together excitedly, as if applauding herself. “You seemed the right choice to introduce ’er to the ways of ’er new profession.”
Reinier raised both his eyebrows and looked at Connor, who, in turn, shrugged as a sign that he didn’t understand either.
“Messieurs.” Madame Poivre rolled her eyes. “I ’ave other girls ’oo ’ave already ’ad…shall we say…the pleasure of making your acquaintance? It was their ceaseless rhapsodizing that made me decide you should be the ones to educate ’er.”
Reinier laughed low, an understanding, knowing purr. Connor chuckled into his fist.
“I feel obliged to tell you, though,” Madame Poivre pointed out, “she is unattractively thin despite ’aving been ’ere for two weeks already. Moreover, she is unfashionably tall for a woman and ’er face is distorted with ghastly freckles.”
Connor sat up and leaned forward. “Freckles, you say?”
Reinier hid his smile in his handkerchief as he watched him. He already knew the Irishman could be quickly and easily charmed by blond, flaxen, golden straw or even tawny hair as long as it came with a lovely face. Personally, he couldn’t care less. Reinier failed to imagine how a woman with such a fair complexion could have ended up here, in a whorehouse in the Caribbean Sea, but he, too, did not think freckles could be classified as a “distortion.” For Connor, it was probably quite the contrary.
Madame Poivre sighed. “I’m afraid so.”
Perhaps it was time Reinier scattered Madame Poivre’s worries about the woman’s “unattractiveness.” He knew she’d be appealing. Madame Poivre had a good eye for beauty, after all. Therefore, Reinier stated dryly, “I do believe freckles pose no hindrance to our performance.”
“Certainly not,” Connor chuckled.
Madame Poivre sighed with relief and bowed her head gratefully.
“So,” Reinier concluded, “we are to be the ones to give her her first lesson in licentiousness?”
Madame Poivre bit her lower lip to swallow the mischievous grin crawling up her round face. “Do you feel up to it?”
2
Madame Poivre was swaying her broad hips more than usual. Reinier could tell because he was right behind her when she was showing them up the stairs. Something was on her mind, something exciting, something besides money. He would have liked to wonder some more, but she opened the door to the best suite on the second floor and, stepping aside, murmured a low, “Amusez-vous, messieurs.”
Reinier stepped inside and let his coat fall over the one chair in the room. Hearing Connor sucking in his breath, he turned. His friend had stopped short, eyes fixated on the woman standing by the windows. Reinier pivoted to see what had Connor so captivated.
Her exceptionally long, strawberry blond hair fell down her sides like an exotic veil. Her hair was straight, as straight as her back when she heard the door close, and she slowly lifted her chin to meet their gazes. She wore a flimsy white dressing gown over a matching corset that was cut below her breasts. The long undergarments emphasized her slim calves and delicate ankles.
Reinier felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. She was tall and thin, but nevertheless beautiful. A rare jewel to be sure. Not as rare as turquoise…The thought of her had his expression turn to stone, so he reined in his wandering mind.
She was pale, which only emphasized the dark green quality of her eyes. And as Madame Poivre had pointed out, freckles were lavishly strewn over her features and décolleté. Although her lips were broad and a little too thin for Reinier’s taste, they seemed created for luscious pleasures. She was beautiful, indeed. She was a very beautiful whore.
Turning back to Connor, Reinier saw that his friend seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. He looked spellbound, almost frozen in place.
As realization dawned on Reinier, his eyes briefly widened and he felt a knowing, albeit sad, smile on his lips. He’d been there. Reinier knew only too well how it felt when instant attraction hit and rattled a man like lightning.
The poor boy. Somehow Reinier had a strong feeling that this was a woman the Irishman wouldn’t be able to easily walk away from.
Tilting his head in thought, Reinier licked his lips slowly. After all their adventures before and after his marriage, Reinier had not thought it could ever happen to Connor. He could only hope he would have far better luck with it than Reinier had ever had.
His gaze was locked with Connor’s as the Irishman shook himself out of his trance, his eyebrows puckering in a whimsical way. Reinier ignored Connor’s quizzical look and crossed the room to sit on the bed. Casually, he leaned back, bracing himself against the mattress. He was not going to start the game this time. If Connor was, indeed, feeling what Reinier thought he was, he would have to decide the next step to take.
That