Chapter Thirteen
Past
Andrew sat on his bed, elbows braced on his thighs. A half-finished bottle of whiskey sat on the bedside table. It was five in the morning, and he’d recently finished his shift. His hair was damp from the bath he’d taken, and, beneath his dressing gown, his skin was tingling from the scrubbing he’d given it.
It had been a long night, the kind that left you feeling dirty no matter how many baths you took. He’d serviced a trio of women, high-kick types who thought it would be a lark to share a piece of rookery meat. They’d all ogled him coyly through bejeweled masks.
Look at that cock! It’s a wonder he can walk, one had giggled.
He’s at least twice the size of my illustrious husband, the second had observed.
Size is all well and good, the third said, but does he know how to use that monstrous asset?
Did they think he was so ignorant that he didn’t know how to fuck? Like a trick pony, he’d performed on command. He’d given the three what they wanted, and after he’d left them panting and satisfied, he realized that not once had any of them addressed him directly.
He was less than a servant whom one might call by name.
Less than human.
He took a swig directly from the bottle, welcoming the burn. If he couldn’t feel clean, then at least he could feel nothing. He hated his present mood. Hated his weakness, his stupid desire for…
Don’t be a fool like I was, my boy. His mama’s last words flitted through his head. Love ain’t for the likes of us.
He didn’t want love. Just some bleeding respect.
It didn’t help that tonight came on the heels of yet another argument with Kitty. Her plans to expand her business were failing and her debts to Bartholomew Black growing. She didn’t like it when Andrew pointed out the facts. Today he’d committed the worse offense of all: he’d offered to help.
You—manage one of my bawdy houses? Her derisive laugh had made his face burn. Don’t delude yourself, luv, and keep to what you know. Got a trio of ladies booked tonight, all in need of a good swiving, and it’ll be a test of even your God-given talents.
He took another swig of whiskey to drive out the scornful voices.
Hinges creaked, and his head swung in the direction of the door. It had better not be Kitty. His temper simmered dangerously. If she wants me to fuck another customer—or fuck her…
“Andrew?” Primrose’s head poked around the corner.
At the sight of her tear-stained face, his anger receded.
“What’s the matter, little chick?” he said with concern. “Another nightmare?”
“Y-yes.” Her voice hitched.
At three, the tot was having bad dreams with increasing regularity. He’d told Kitty that the girl needed a nanny to watch over her at night, to which Kitty had replied: And I need a proper mansion in Mayfair, but neither of those things are going to happen.
He patted the place next to him. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Primrose dashed over pell-mell, scrambling onto the bed and throwing her short little arms around his waist. “It was scary,” she sobbed. “I was scared.”
“Monsters again?” he said gently.
She nodded, her tears soaking through his robe. “Big monsters. Loud ones stomping through the house.”
He cursed silently. A brothel was no place to raise a child.
“There are no such thing as monsters,” he said.
Primrose looked up at him with glimmering jade eyes. “I s-saw some in the hall. Three monsters. So ugly they had to wear masks!”
He choked back a laugh. Out of the mouths of babes…
Lips twitching, he said, “You’re safe in here. I won’t let the monsters get you.”
“I know.” Her smile temporarily chased away his own demons. “Andrew?”
“Yes?”
“Are you ever scared?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“What are you afraid of?”
He thought of the faceless customers, the perfumed hellholes, the poverty.
“That things will never change,” he said quietly.
He’d never given voice to his worst fear before. Didn’t know why he would do so in front of Primrose, a bantling who couldn’t understand.
“I don’t like change.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t like new things.”
“Some new things are good. Don’t you want a new dress, a nicer house to live in?”
She shook her head—then surprised him by throwing her arms around him again. “I don’t want anything but you.”
With those words, she reached inside him and touched his heart. Unlike others in his life, she didn’t try to take it or rip it out or mold it in any way. She just… held it. The way a child holds an injured bird, trying to coax it to fly.
His throat thickened. “You have me, little one.”
“Promise?” Her head tipped back, her eyes searching his.
“Promise.” He ruffled her bright curls. “Now time to get some sleep.”
He got under the covers. She followed him, cuddling up close. He watched over her until her lashes lay still against her small cheeks, her breathing turning deep and even. Then his own eyelids grew heavy, and he followed her into sleep.