I Spy a Duke (39 page)
Authors: Erica Monroe
She’d already pawned the last of her books to pay for coal so that her little sister, Bess, wouldn’t freeze in their flat. Her heart panged at the memory. Those books had been more precious to her than any other possession, but Bess had to be her first priority.
Come tomorrow when the coal ran out again, there’d be nothing left to sell.
Nothing except for herself.
She couldn’t think of that now. If she did, her knees would sway and her steps would falter. That would make her an easy mark. Already, she felt as though her movements were evaluated for signs of weakness. A chill skittered down her back. She shoved her battered hand into the pocket of her cloak and continued, trying to ignore the disconcerting sensation of being watched.
She was strong. She could survive anything.
The group behind her advanced, shoving her forward. She stumbled, but managed to right herself in time before colliding with the man in front of her. The herd dispersed at the door, ambling to the various gaming tables. Abigail made her way toward the far corner of the room, pausing for a moment to lean against a post and catch her breath.
She scanned the crowd for her father, expecting to find him flanked on either side by intent players. Tonight all the chairs were empty, except for three: the banker and two punters. A crowd of people watched the game proceed. The cards had split; the dealer took half of the bets on that rank. The onlookers let out a whoop of approval.
The mechanics of the game held little interest to her, for it’d always end the same: even if her father won, they’d still owe. Their debts were so high; they’d never dig out of this hole. She recognized her father: grizzly gray hair, the stoop of his shoulders, his threadbare green coat Bess had patched the week prior.
Across from him and facing her was a man Abigail did not recognize. As he purchased another check from the dealer, she swallowed back the dread that threatened to consume her. An unknown competitor meant her father might not receive leniency. Cruikshank had already told Papa that if he didn’t start paying his vowels, he’d need to find a new place to gamble or he’d have to face Cyrus. Known as an unhinged pugilist with a taste for blood, Cyrus Mason could make the injuries she’d incurred from the loom seem like paper-cuts.
And so the cycle would begin again: another gaming hell and another night like this one. Before she’d been injured, she’d been able to make enough at the factory that the bills were paid. But now…it didn’t matter to Papa that she’d cut her meals in half for the past few months to ensure Bess had enough to eat. Or that they were three months behind on rent, and if they didn’t pay up soon, they’d all be out on the bloody street.
Nothing mattered to her father except the game.
Abigail slowly steered her way through the crowd, minding her steps until she’d made it to the back table.
“’Ey now,” one man complained as she accidentally bumped him. He turned, catching her eye. Even in the cloak, he recognized her. So much for anonymity.
He motioned for a few of his friends to step to the side to make room for her. “Move, mates.”
Abigail nodded her gratitude, sliding into the vacated space. Her father hadn’t noticed her arrival, so focused was he on the game layout.
“Come, Papa,” she quietly bid. “Settle up your accounts and hope to God this man lets you by with incremental payments.”
She hated having to say those words. She hated the humiliation of having to stand there, while all the men leered at her as if she was the choicest bit of flesh they’d get all night. But if she was going to be a harlot, she might as well start expecting this treatment.
The unknown punter across from her father coughed. A cough meant to distract, to clear the air. She looked up to see who would be so polite in this den of iniquity. She focused in on his features and her stomach did a flip. A purely physical reaction, for what woman wouldn’t have felt a surge of fancy for the way his linen shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. His oval face was classically handsome, chiseled with an impossibly straight nose.
The man’s blue eyes narrowed. “He owes me two hundred pounds. You can’t expect me to excuse so large a debt.”
Two hundred pounds.
His voice rang in her ears, like the steady drum that signals a firing squad. Two hundred pounds. Each breath was harder. Her throat closed. Two hundred pounds.
The mob erupted with cheers at the announcement, eager for a potential conflict. Their hoots barely registered when her heart pounded so hard she feared it might burst free of her chest. The world spun around her, and she prayed the floor might swallow her up.
Yet nothing changed.
Around her, the horde grew impatient for a response. Whatever leniency they’d shown in allowing her into their midst had disappeared. Now she was a part of the spectacle. Her pain on display for their enjoyment.
“’E don’t got two hundred,” one man jeered. “’E won’t even pay me the two crowns ’e owes me.”
“And ’e owes me twenty pounds!” another fellow added.
Oh, God.
Her father had killed them all with the fifty-one cards of a faro game.
They were doomed. With vowels that large, surely her father would be sent to debtor’s prison. Hell, maybe they’d all be sent to Marshalsea. The thought of her little sister living in such squalor made Abigail’s heart tighten. How would Bess survive?
“I can’t pay you,” her father mumbled, as if he was just now realizing how much he’d lost. “Ain’t got that.”
“Then something will have to do be done,” his opponent announced.
Thoughts sped through her mind. Bess couldn’t go to Marshalsea. It’d ruin her in a way Abigail couldn’t countenance. Sorrow had seeped deep into Abigail’s life, ripping apart all her hopes and dreams, but Bess deserved better.
What could Abigail offer this man? Their coffers were as empty as their cabinets. The little blunt Bess brought in at the new textile factory already wasn’t enough for the rent.
Abigail glanced down, taking in the plump curves of her breasts, her wide hips reputed to be perfect for grasping onto as a man tupped her hard. She was all the family had.
And if it were the last damn thing she did, she’d save Bess. This man knew Mason—perhaps a deal could be brokered to keep her father away from the hells too.
Abigail pushed back the hood to her cloak, revealing her blonde curls. Before her disfigurement, the factory boys had made it quite clear she stirred their attentions. But what was the price of her soul? Was she worth such an exorbitant sum?
“We can’t pay you,” she said, repeating her father’s words. “But if you excuse my father’s debts, I’ll—”
The words wouldn’t form. She gulped for air. A vision of Bess huddled in the corner of a filthy cell danced before her eyes. So this was how her degradation would begin, not in a brothel but in a hell. How could she actually go through with this? She’d be signing her soul away to the devil.
She couldn’t think of another choice.
She needed to entice him. He wouldn’t accept a single night for two hundred pounds—even as a virgin, she was not worth it. A man as good-looking as he was wouldn’t pay that much for one lay with a working class girl.
One month with her. She dismissed that idea immediately. A month away from Bess was too much. Two weeks instead. She’d start there.
“I’ll spend two weeks with you. My virtue in exchange for two hundred pounds.”
Read More from Erica Monroe
A Dangerous Invitation
The Rookery Rogues – Book 1
She’s given up on love, and wants only independence…
Torn from her life of privilege by her father’s death, Kate Morgan survives in London’s dark and depraved rookeries as a fence for stolen goods. The last man she ever expects, or wants, to be reunited with is her first love, who promised to cherish, honor and protect her, and instead fled amidst accusations of murder.
He’s the reformed rake determined to win her back…
One drunken night cost Daniel O’Reilly the woman he loved and the life he’d worked so hard to create. If he ever wants to reclaim that life–and Kate–he’ll not only have to prove he’s innocent of murder, but convince the pistol-wielding spitfire that he’s no longer the scoundrel he once was.
Together, they’ll have to face a killer. Time is running out…
Secrets in Scarlet
The Rookery Rogues – Book 2
His business is discovering secrets…
When a girl is murdered at a factory in London, Sergeant Thaddeus Knight of the Metropolitan Police comes in to investigate. But it’s not just the factory owners that Thaddeus wants information on–the devilishly intriguing Poppy O’Reilly is a puzzle he’d like nothing more than to solve.
Her life depends on keeping her past hidden….
All it took was one mistake for Poppy to lose her good reputation. Shunned by polite society, she’s retreated to the one place no one from her old life would look for her: the rookeries. Protecting her young daughter is the most important thing to Poppy, and Thaddeus threatens the false identity she’s carefully constructed. The last thing she should do is allow Thaddeus close to her family, yet she can’t stay away from him.
With danger around the corner, will the secrets of a scarlet woman lead to their undoing?
About the Author
Erica Monroe is a
USA Today
Bestselling Author of emotional, suspenseful historical romance. Her debut novel,
A Dangerous Invitation
, has been nominated in the published historical category for the prestigious 2014 Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Romantic Suspense. When not writing, she is a chronic TV watcher, sci-fi junkie, comic book reader, pit bull lover, and slow runner. She lives in the suburbs of North Carolina with her husband, two dogs, and a cat.
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