The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

IT HAD NOT TAKEN LONG FOR THE MISCHIEF to resurface in Miss Jessie. Gregor looked at her with amused suspicion. “What were you doing, planning your escape?”

He was quite certain she would have been gone by now, if that was her intention. Gregor warned himself against being curious about her deeper motives and emotions. He had spent the whole afternoon reminding himself that she was a simple whore. The fact that he became aroused by her was merely incidental. He could not afford to let his sympathy for her situation to grow. He had enough problems to deal with.

“No, I…” Her voice drifted off and she looked over at the packages he’d put on the table rather forlornly.

Did she think he was going to punish her by depriving her of the clothing?

“I was just wondering how many other guests lodged here. I hear voices when you are gone.”

“You have uncannily good hearing.” Why did he get the feeling he was missing some important point of fact here? “Were you intending to leave?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no. I am dedicated to the task.”

Gregor accepted that much. She had also confessed her boredom, the evening before. He realized he must hasten the lesson and move on to the task in order to keep her occupied. “I need your dedication, Jessie. We are almost ready, and we will proceed with haste.”

He gestured at the table. “You will find two dresses that the seamstress assured me would be suitable for a serving woman of good standing. Please, be certain that they are a good fit and begin wearing them. You must be suitably humble when you arrive on the doorstep.”

Jessie nodded and then proceeded to unwrap the packages with curiosity.

Gregor settled in a chair to observe while she examined the items with murmurs of appreciation, her eyes growing round in the most delightful way. She commented on the quality of wool that had been used for the dresses, and the softness to the touch, things he had not even noticed. After the day before, he knew how much new clothes meant, and he’d added a trinket or two on the spur of the moment, items that were not entirely necessary.

The sheer delight in her eyes when she shook out the blue evening gown made him smile. It was an indulgence, but well worth it. Besides, he wanted to see her in it.

“This is a mistake. You said you had purchased two dresses for me. This one is for someone else?” Her expression darkened as she questioned him.

Was that jealousy he saw? She had questioned him about women the night before. “I said two dresses suitable for a serving girl. The third is for the Harlot of Dundee to wear for her current provider, here and now.”

Her eyes flickered with a myriad of expressions, emotions that he could not accurately gauge. For a moment he thought she was unhappy with the purchase, then she sighed and held the dress up against herself, fingering the silk in awe. “’Tis too good for the likes of me.”

Something about the way she handled the fabric made his cock harden. “It will not be too good later, when it is pushed up around your hips so that I may access your sweet puss.”

He hadn’t meant to say that aloud, and he hadn’t meant to indulge his desire for her again. But there it was. Living in such close quarters, it was inevitable. She was a lusty wench with a fine appreciation of a good tumble.

“Mister Ramsay,” she admonished playfully. But her eyes darkened and the corners of her mouth remained lifted. He wondered what went on in her mind at such times. If he had to put a wager o

n it, he would be unsure where his money was safest. With a rueful smile, he acknowledged that was part of the appeal.

“Look in the pocket,” he suggested.

She pulled out the pretty trinket he had bought, a necklace. Nothing fancy, but it was set with a couple of blue stones that were of a similar color to the dress. Ideally, he would have had a craftsman work some of the exotic stones he had, but he had decided they might bring her unwelcome attention in the future.

Again there was much cooing and appreciation.

“You will find the appropriate undergarments to wear with the gown in my bundle. The seamstress and her assistant assured me that it was all in order and you would be able to adjust the items to fit.”

Jessie darted to the table and untied the sack he had left there. A moment later she had retrieved a petticoat decorated with lace and a boned corset, which she examined at length.

“I’ve only ever had linen stays.” She looked at him aghast. “How will I manage? Will you assist?”

Gregor’s experience was limited to removing such items. Besides, he knew that if he got his hands on her it might take all evening, for he would be easily distracted by her soft skin and the pleasure in her expression.

“I will call for the serving girl,” he suggested, and went to the landing.

When Morag arrived the two women moved into his bedchamber, but left the door ajar. There was much whispering and laughter, which sounded good to his ears. It was not something he was used to hearing. He’d been aware that the two chattered when Morag came with food or to exchange the pails and washbowls. That was why he’d thought it was she who freed Jessie when he was away.

After a while he shifted his chair into the bedchamber so that he could watch them. It was almost sunset. The remaining light from the window beyond the women lit Jessie’s outline as she arched most provocatively to allow Morag to tighten the corset, reminding him of a rather immoral illustration of a woman at her toilette that he had once seen and enjoyed. Except that this was real, and for his eyes alone.

A deep sense of pleasure kindled in him as he observed the feminine ritual. A sense of entitlement, too, and meshed with that was the knowledge that he had brought this about.