The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

Yes, it was going to be difficult from now on, because she had bonded with him. He only wanted her for this task, but she had grown to care for him far too much. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to be strong, but the feeling did not come. Hunching over her knees, she pressed her palms to her eyes, attempting to push down the knot in her chest. But it would not be quelled, and for the first time in many, many years, Jessie Taskill cried herself to sleep.

NINETEEN

“BEGGING YOUR PARDON, MASTER WALLACE, may I enter in order to clear the grate?” Jessie stood just inside the doorway to the master’s parlor and wiped her hands on the muslin apron she had been given.

Master Wallace was seated at a fancy table covered in papers. His head rested in his hands as he studied something there. Above the table rose shelves of boxes and books; it was a complicated affair with many drawers. He lifted one hand, which she took as a sign of consent.

She sidled past him slowly, clutching her brush and pail, but he scarcely lifted his head. This was no good. If she was to attract his attention, she would have to appear more interesting than whatever it was he was currently looking at. She cleared her throat. “I will try not to distract you from your work, Master Wallace.”

He lifted his gaze and studied her for a moment, recognition flickering in his eyes. She noticed how the lace cuffs on his shirt were ink-stained, and he wore only a waistcoat, no frock coat. His silver-and-black-streaked hair was ruffled where he had rested his head in his hands. After a moment he nodded and gestured her toward the fireplace. At least she had forced him to take notice of the fact it was her, and not some other serving girl. That was a start.

She had begun the day much more determined, for her strange encounter with the master of the house looked more promising in the light of a new day. It was what she was here for, after all, and she could not let her attachment to Gregor make things difficult for her. After some lengthy self-chastisement she had scorned her tearful behavior of the night before, and strengthened her will. The faster she got on with it the quicker it would be over. She would grit her teeth, as she had so many times before, discover information for Gregor, and be out of this place quickly enough.

Thoroughly girded and prepared, she went about her duties with a fury. By midmorning she’d made sure that everyone else was occupied with work when it came time to clear the ashes. Mistress Gilroy seemed unwilling to let her attend to the task in the main parlors, but there was no one else available, and Jessie assured her she would do it and be quick about it.

As it turned out, she completed the clearing of the ashes and the laying of a new fire, and he had scarce made a sound other than to mumble over his papers. With the job completed, Jessie rested back on her haunches and put her hands on her hips. She’d arranged herself in a pretty pose and produced an excessive amount of wiggling of her hips and shoulders, but he had not lifted his head once to glance over at her. All that preparation and she couldn’t manage to draw his attention away from whatever it was he was looking at.

This could become vexing.

She glared at his back.

Nevertheless, the night before had been a different story, and she reminded herself of that. The fact that he might be a night prowler occurred to her, but time was short and Gregor would appear that evening, expecting news of her progress. She was not about to sacrifice her meeting with Gregor to wait for Master Wallace to appear in her quarters with his wandering hands. This called for more desperate measures. Besides, she was curious as to what he was so fascinated with over there, and rued the fact that she could not read.

As she passed back across the parlor, she stumbled and set down her wooden pail. With a loud cry of dismay, she dropped to her knees and began sweeping the floor as if ashes had spilled on the rug near his table. “I beg your pardon, sire. Please forgive the disturbance. ’Tis terribly clumsy of me.”

Ivor Wallace looked up from his papers and pushed the spectacles he was wearing down his nose as he observed her jiggling bosom.

She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Please, sire, do not tell Mistress Gilroy about my clumsiness. I am on trial, and I hope to secure a permanent position in your household.”

Jessie bit her lip as she wondered if her current position—on her hands and knees, with her rear end tilted appropriately and her breasts spilling from her bodice—might help in such a quest for permanent work. Apparently so, because Master Wallace shifted his chair away from the desk, abandoned his spectacles and rested his hands on his widely placed knees.

Jessie felt the urge to chuckle. He had positioned himself so that she might readily observe the strapping manhood he harbored inside his breeches. She took a quick glance and rounded her eyes, attempting to look shocked. Secretly, she congratulated herself for breaking his concentration.

“You are the new serving girl?”

Did he not recall her from the night before? Perhaps he had been drink-addled as he roamed the attics, prodding the serving girls at random.

She nodded.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Jessie, Master Wallace.”

“Well, Jessie, I will not remark upon your clumsiness to Mistress Gilroy, if you come over here and do something for me.”

Jessie hastened to her feet and wiped her hands on her apron. “What is it that you would like me to do, sire?”

Show me what we need to know. An enchantment whispered through her mind. She willed it to be so.

Ivor Wallace frowned as if confused. He considered her at length, his broad mouth pursed, his woolly eyebrows drawn low.

If it were not for the mean look about him he would be a reasonably handsome man, she decided, especially given his age. He was a cold, mercenary type, however, and that made her wary.

Pointing out a small set of wooden steps located near the desk, he beckoned to her. “Climb up there and reach for the rolled map you see on that shelf.”

At first Jessie was disappointed, thinking her magic had not been inspired. However, she would get a look at what he was working on, and that was the important thing. Then, when she mounted the steps and reached for the rolled papers he had indicated, he moved. As quick as lightning he lifted the back of her skirt so that he could look at her legs while she stood there upon the steps.

A cold draft wafted up as far as her bottom, and she realized he had lifted her skirts and petticoat quite high in order to examine what Gregor had so often assured her were her delectable buttocks. Jessie had to keep her face averted in order not to laugh. Apparently she had managed to distract him after all.