Chapter Five
Past
“Where in blazes have the two of you been?”
Kitty’s voice reverberated through the cramped quarters they’d been occupying for the past week. The inn was a decrepit, vermin-infested place just beyond the outskirts of London, and it was still more than they could afford at the moment.
Andrew, who’d just passed through the door with Primrose, felt the little girl’s hand tremble in his, her cheerful song dying in her throat. Her gaze bounced between him and Kitty. Crumbs of gingerbread—the first she’d tasted and which she’d joyfully inhaled—clung to her quivering chin.
“I told you I was taking Primrose to the mop fair,” he said in even tones. “Since she’s never seen one—”
“Why would the stupid brat need to see a hiring fair full o’ clodhoppers?”
Hearing the slurred edge to Kitty’s words, he surmised that the heightened color on her face didn’t come from paint. Her chignon had unraveled, russet strands lying heavily upon her shoulders. Her gown was a field of stains.
When Kitty was in her altitudes, she was less than pleasant to be around, and since their escape from Black three months ago, she’d been in this state more and more often. Her bitter litany ran through his head: she hated being on the flit, hated being destitute… hated doing “charity work.” For when it rained, it poured: despite Kitty’s repeated letters to the man who was supposed to pay for Primrose’s upkeep, the money had ceased to come.
Seeing the virulent flash in Kitty’s eyes, Andrew felt his gut tighten. Best to get Primrose out of here while he dealt with the situation.
“Go play outside,” he told the girl softly. “Don’t wander far.”
“Yes, Andrew.”
She turned to go; Kitty’s voice halted her.
“What have you got there?” the bawd snapped.
Primrose’s throat worked above the plain collar of her frock. “G-got, Miss Kitty?”
“In your hand, you dimwit!” Before Andrew could stop her, Kitty marched over to the cowering girl, snatching the object from her hand. “Where did you get this?”
Primrose’s lips, though trembling, remained pressed together. Despite her obvious fear, she didn’t look in his direction. He felt a curious pang… of respect. The four-year-old showed more loyalty and backbone than most adults he knew.
“Answer me, or I’ll box your ears! Who gave you this?” Kitty shook the cheap rag doll in Primrose’s face.
“Leave her alone,” Andrew said quietly. “I gave it to her.”
Kitty spun around to face him, and he braced for the storm.
“You did what?” she screeched, flinging the doll across the room.
He jerked his head at Primrose. Getting the message, the tot dashed off the battlefield… but not before scooping up her doll, cradling it like a wounded soldier. Kitty, her anger now targeted at him, didn’t notice.
“We are living like bleeding paupers,” she shouted, “and you squander our coin on that worthless little leech?”
“Don’t speak of her that way. She’s a child, for God’s sake.” He hated when Kitty was in this state, hated how familiar it felt to be on the receiving end of a drunken tirade. “And it is not our coin which I spent but my own.”
His private stash—which had taken years to save—was now nearly gone. Faced with the prospect of no food or shelter, he’d had no choice but to offer it up. The only reason he had any money left was because he’d managed to win a few card games here and there. He’d never liked gambling, but he was discovering that he had a knack for it. Not that he wanted to rely on capricious Lady Luck.
“Your pockets are as let as mine.” Kitty’s lips curled in derision. “You’ve but one skill worth anything, Corby, and that hasn’t been in evidence,”—her gaze dropped to his groin—“in quite some time.”
He hadn’t tupped her since they’d been on the flit. Hadn’t wanted to. Pointing out that fact didn’t seem like the wisest course of action at present.
Instead, he ignored her dig and tried a different tactic. “On the topic of employable skills, that was why I went to the mop fair in the first place. To see what jobs were available.”
Kitty stared at him—then threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Corby, pull my other leg, eh? It’s shorter.”
“I’m not joking,” he said curtly. “We need the money.”
She sauntered up to him, trailed a finger down his chest. “You do know how one advertises one’s trade at the mops, lover?”
Though he might have lived his whole life in London’s underbelly, he wasn’t an idiot. “One walks around with a tool from one’s trade. You hold a mop if you haven’t any specific skill, but you’re willing to learn.”
“Exactly,” she drawled. “So how will it look for you to prance up and down the fair—waving that giant cock of yours about?”
His jaw clenched. “I can do honest work, Kitty.”
“You say that because you’ve never done it before.” She smirked. “Other than fucking, what are you good at, hmm? You’re far too good-looking to be a field hand, and your skills don’t qualify you to be even a second footman.”
His face burned; he had no reply.
“Self-delusion is for the stupid and weak.” She suddenly palmed his crotch, her rough squeeze driving a harsh breath from his lips. “Besides, can you imagine being in service day in and day out? And for what? Twenty-five pounds a year,” she scoffed. “You’ve made four times that in a single night—and enjoyed yourself far more in the process. No, Corby, drudgery wasn’t meant for the likes of us.”
His mind knew she was right, yet something in him resisted.
He shoved her hand away. “Perhaps in your dotage,” he drawled, knowing how much she hated any reference to her age, “you’ve given up hope for change, but I’m a young man. I’ve a whole future ahead of me.”
“You’re a whore,” she said flatly. “A pretty one, to be sure, but your future lies between your legs, and don’t you forget it.”
Anger roiled; he held it ruthlessly in check. “My future is mine to decide.”
“You wouldn’t even have a future if it weren’t for me. I made you, Corby: I gave you your manners, your clothes, your fine accent. Without me, you’d be nothing but a whore’s bastard.”
The reminder pitted his anger against his sense of loyalty—his greatest weakness. Because despite everything, he couldn’t forget what Kitty had done for him. Where he might be now if it hadn’t been for her.
Dead, probably.
“It’s because of you that we have nothing.” His hands curled in frustration. “If you hadn’t gotten mixed up with Black, we’d still have a roof over our heads, a thriving business—”
“We can have that again.” In a blink, Kitty went from petulant to seductive. Manipulation was the tool of her trade, and even knowing that didn’t make him impervious to the tears that glimmered in her fine grey eyes. To the hitch of remorse in her voice. “I know I’ve made mistakes, Corby, but I can fix this. I have plans to get us out of this mess.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What plans?”
“London’s still too close, clinging to us like a hangnail. We need to make a clean break—get farther into the countryside,” she declared. “Shropshire, maybe. Or Dorset.”
“Sheep and pigs,” he said with a snort. “What in bloody hell are we going to do there?”
“Start another business. It doesn’t have to be a bawdy house, although,”—she slid him a look—“that would be the obvious place to begin. Given our areas of expertise.”
“Let us not forget those. I fuck for money, and you spend it as if it grew on trees.”
“Sarcasm isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
He lifted a brow. “Was I being sarcastic?”
“Just think of the advantages we’ll have over the local competition,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “We’ll bring panache, class, exotic tricks—”
“We?”
“To start. All hands on deck and all that. Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said crossly. “I was plying the trade whilst you were in your nappies. I suppose I still know how it’s done.”
“I suppose.” He wondered if it ought to bother him that his lover planned to bed others… but he was no hypocrite. And, truthfully, he didn’t give a damn.
Possessiveness wasn’t part of his nature.
“There is one small problem, of course.”
He didn’t like the glint in Kitty’s eyes. “What problem?”
“Primrose.” As his gut chilled, she said, “Now that she longer pays for herself, we can’t afford to keep her. To embark on my plan, we’ll need to cut all unnecessary expenses—”
“Primrose stays.”
“Be reasonable.” Kitty trapped his face between her palms, her beautiful face pleading. “This is our future we’re talking about.”
“Where will she go? She’s only four, for Christ’s sake. You can’t throw an innocent out on the street—”
“You and I are living proof that you can.” Kitty dropped her hands, her steely gaze pinning him. “I thought you were smarter than this.”
“I’ll pay her way,” he gritted out. “You don’t have to lift a finger.”
“Don’t fool yourself. You’re no hero, Corby.”
“I know that,” he snapped. “Just let her stay, and I’ll do what it takes to make your bloody plan work, all right?”
Kitty studied him, his heart pounding out the seconds.
“All right,” she said finally. “But if you can’t manage her, she goes.”
He gave a terse nod.
“Well, it seems we have a bargain. Best strike while the iron is hot.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I spoke earlier to a fellow traveler. A widow staying at this very inn.” Kitty smiled thinly. “As it turns out, she’s in need of consolation this eve.”
He knew then that he’d been had. From the start of the conversation, this was what Kitty had been angling for. But he couldn’t turn back… not with Primrose’s future hanging in the balance. And given how far down this path he’d gone, maybe the only choice was to soldier on.
What difference did it make anyway? Another customer, another fuck. He’d trained his body to go through the motions while his mind remained uninvolved. Detached. He could make a patron climax again and again while he planned for the day when he’d have his own club and determine his own future. When he shot his load, it would be to the ultimate fantasy: success.
So let them buy his cock, his hands, his mouth—his mind was his own.
“After the fuck, I’m not sleeping with her,” he clipped out.
“I haven’t forgotten your rule, lover.” Now that she’d gotten her way, Kitty’s manner turned conciliatory. “You never sleep with customers. I wouldn’t expect you to.”
“Widows can be clingy.”
“For the twenty pounds she paid, I told her she’d get an hour of your time and no more.”
He went to the battered washing stand and cleaned himself up. He did a final inspection in the cracked looking glass: the eyes that stared out of his youthful face were cool, flat. Ready.
Straightening his cravat, he turned to his bawd. “Take me to her.”