Lord Harry's Folly by Catherine Coulter (read this if .txt) 📕

present, and though they were garbed in keeping with the elegance of the room, there was more white bosom showing than Hetty ever considered possible without showing a navel as well. She noticed with growing dread that although conversation appeared lively and high giggling laughter was a commonplace amongst the ladies, the gentlemen still managed to caress and stroke any unclothed flesh that was near to them. She felt frightened and embarrassed to the tips of her toes at the spectacle before her. “What did you say, Harry? Oh, it’s elegant. You’re right. Why a more tasteful brothel I’ve never encountered.”

“Gawd, ain’t she ever a beauty,” Mr. Scuddimore whispered in awe, his widened eyes fastened upon an ethereal-looking girl whose shining hair lay long and thick and black as polished ebony down her slender back. Her brown eyes were curiously slanted at the corners, giving her an exotic appearance.

“Ah, I can see that you are taken with Lilly, young sir. She has come to us just recently from a faraway land called China. Most charming, is she not?”

Mr. Scuddimore jumped and reddened, unaware that his remark had been overheard. He turned, just as had Sir Harry and Lord Harry, to gaze into the light green eyes of a tall, willowy built woman, who, unlike the rest of the females in the vast room, was dressed in a blue velvet gown that revealed not one patch of bosom. The smile on her reddened lips was one of tolerant amusement. Hetty realized that she was the madam, the woman who procured and sold the bodies of these other women. Without thought to her precarious position, she looked the woman up and down, and said with all the haughty sang froid of a peer of the realm, “How interesting that you must needs search to the ends of the world to procure ladies for your establishment. Is procurement that difficult? Perhaps it is very costly?”

Chapter Six

Sir Harry shot a look of confused surprise at Lord Harry and Hetty forced herself to swallow her anger. She shrugged her shoulders and turned away from Madam Buxtell to look about the room.

“I’m Sir Harry Brandon, Lady Buxtell. Perhaps you remember me. I was here not above a month ago.”

Lady Angelique Buxtell, Martine DuBois by birth, cloaked her anger and forced a polite mask of recognition and welcome to her painted face. Actually, she had no memory of him at all, but he appeared eager to please, and somewhat embarrassed by his friend’s churlishness. Thus, she nodded her dark brown curls, only slightly brightened by the dye jar, and stretched her hand to Sir Harry. “Of course, Sir Harry, I remember you well. I see that you have brought two friends. Perhaps some champagne, cards, or pleasant conversation with one of my lovely girls?”

Mr. Scuddimore, having gathered his scattered wits back together, replied with unabashed directness to Lady Buxtell’s suggestion. “Didn’t come here for cards, ma’am. Already lost too much blunt to Lord Harry here.”

Ah, so the rude young man is a lord, Lady Buxtell thought, instantly revising her opinion and forgiving the insolence. Lords were, after all, the making of her success. It wouldn’t do at all to offend one of them. “In that case, gentlemen,” she said, focusing a bright smile on Hetty, “champagne and conversation it shall be.”

“Didn’t really come for conversation either,” Scuddy said. “I ain’t much in the line of talking at the best of times.”

“I can see that.” Lady Buxtell ushered them to a generously laden sideboard at the far end of the room and poured each of them a glass of sparkling champagne. “To your evening’s pleasure, my lords,” she said with practiced gaiety, motioning toward the girl, Lilly, as she spoke.

Sir Harry leaned over to Hetty and whispered, “See, I told you Lady Buxtell’s was far above the common touch. There’s Lord Alvaney next to the fireplace and over there is Sir John Walterton.”

Hetty interrupted. “Yes, and the gentleman already far into his cups is Lord Darcy Pendleton. Bedamned. Sir William Filey. How I pity the poor girl who must see to his wants.”

Hetty despised Sir William Filey, for he was debauched, cunning, and ruthless. That a good part of her hatred of him was heavily mixed with fear, she freely admitted. At White’s, several months before, he had made a mocking remark about the inordinate smoothness of her cheeks. That very evening, she had made an obvious show of departing with Sir Harry and Scuddy, leaving no doubt that she was off to enjoy a man’s pleasures. She had contrived whenever possible to avoid Sir William’s company, fearful that he would see through her disguise. When Scuddy had told her and Harry about the wager, her condemnation of him had been complete.

“Lord Harry, for God’s sake, stop staring like an idiot at Sir William. The last thing you want to do is offend him. He’s dangerous.”

“You’re right, Harry. It’s just that he offends me.” Her thoughts returned to her own predicament. She realized that she wasn’t behaving as a normal gentleman would. After all, the only reason a man would come to Lady Buxtell’s establishment was to gratify his appetites and that meant, pure and simple, having sex with one of the girls present. She watched as the diminutive Lilly bore off a suddenly tongue-tied Scuddy. She found her eyes again wandering to where Sir William Filey sat, one of his hands resting possessively over the full breast of a raven-haired girl. In that instant, as if he was aware of being observed, Sir William swiveled about, his dark eyes meeting Hetty’s over the rim of his glass. He gazed at her in a way that made Hetty feel as though she were standing naked on display, and then, lazily, lifted his glass in her direction in a mock salute. Knowing that she’d paled, Hetty quickly nodded and turned back to Sir Harry. It was with a mixture of dismay and relief that she saw Sir Harry’s