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Yours unapologetically,

The Brazen Belle

Chapter Four

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Tyrone cracked open his burning eyelids. He shivered and his body sank lower into the lukewarm water. His face followed, water filling up his nostrils. What the devil?

Tyrone dove out, spitting out the liquid and sputtering, then took a lungful of air.

He looked around the marble room, his fingers digging into the copper bathtub, and blinked.

His throat was dry, his head was pounding, and his body felt as though he had been trampled by a herd of horses.

He lowered his hand over the rim of the bath, and his fingers touched the cool surface of a glass bottle.

Ah, the sweet feeling of salvation.

He picked up the bottle, pressed it to his lips, and tipped it up, marveling as the revitalizing liquid passed his lips, washed his mouth of the bitterness inside, and burned his throat. He felt like a thirsty man who had wandered the desert for thirty days and finally encountered an oasis.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

What the devil was that sound?

“Apologies, my lord.” Bergen peeked his head inside the room. “I didn’t think you were still—”

“What do you want?” Tyrone barked.

The valet gingerly stepped inside. “You have a guest, my lord.”

“I am not home.” Tyrone propped the back of his head against the cool bath surface and closed his eyes.

“It is a young lady, my lord,” Bergen clarified.

Tyrone opened one eye. “Ah, that changes things.” He felt drained, but perhaps a good roll in the sack would revitalize him. “Let her in.”

The valet wrung his hands. “In here, my lord?”

Tyrone frowned. It wasn’t the first time he’d invited a bawd into the house. Why was Bergen suddenly uncomfortable with the concept? “Yes, here.”

The valet opened his mouth and then closed it again. His face grew a slightly darker shade of pink. “I do believe that the lady is… respectable.”

Tyrone snorted. “Respectable? She might be playing respectable.” But he paused to think. He didn’t remember ordering a harlot. Then again, he didn’t remember a lot of things. This woman could be dressed as a lady not to draw an eye to herself. Or perhaps it was a ‘respectable’ matron looking for a less than respectable way to spend an afternoon. Either way, now that he thought about it, he didn’t fancy spending his time with the woman in the dirty, lukewarm tub of water. He needed to freshen up. “Very well. Tell her to wait in the drawing room. And bring me some clothes.”

Tyrone didn’t bother dressing up properly—he rarely did. If the woman waiting for him downstairs was a bawd, then he’d be undressed soon enough anyway. If she wasn’t, then she’d be gone just as quickly. His waistcoat hung unbuttoned over his shirt, and his wet hair dripped onto his shoulders making the fabric cling to his body.

He slowly walked down the corridor and entered the drawing room.

A woman stood by the window, her back turned to him, looking out. She turned to face him the moment Tyrone entered the room.

She was a tiny little thing—not much in the way of a bosom—wrapped in a dull green gown and a dirty blue Spencer jacket. The skirt of the gown, which normally clung to a lady’s rounded hips hung shapelessly from her waist. If she were indeed a harlot, she would not be one he would have chosen for himself. But as long as she was here…

“Good day,” he said and walked toward the side table. He poured himself two fingers of whisky and took a sip before turning toward his guest.

“I apologize for interrupting your day,” she said timidly. Her voice was pleasant and smooth, like the smoky whisky he’d just partaken in. He wondered how she might sound screaming from ecstasy.

“You did not,” he said as his gaze slid down her gown again, imagining that perhaps the atrocious gown was hiding unknown pleasures. “Or at the very least, I don’t mind this kind of interruption.”