Free Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor by Rue Allyn Page A

please.”
    She hauled herself into a sitting position. She might be in pain, but pain never killed her before, it wouldn’t now. Her stomach churned, and her head swam. Resting her elbows on her knees, gingerly she lowered her head to her palms. She had to get to the blanket. She had no idea if the low pitched voice on the other side of the door belonged to a man or a woman. Whoever it was, she didn’t want to be seen in this naked state by another stranger.
    As if by magic the blanket settled across her back and shoulders. She clutched the edges and drew them closed in front of her. Cool, dry fingers touched her chin and lifted gently upward. Edith found herself looking into the black-on-black eyes of the strangest female human being she had ever seen.
    The woman was oddly beautiful, small and round with upward tilting black eyes and smiling generous lips in a heart-shaped face. Her skin was fine-grained, and she had a smooth, golden complexion. A long, black braid hung down her back, reaching past her knees.
    “Tsung so sorry Missee hurt. Bring you food and water. You feel good-good soon.”
    Amazement kept Edith silent. Her broken head kept her docile as the woman brought forward a basin and began to tend Edith’s injuries.
    When the basin was removed and her head was re-bandaged, the woman brought a tray that held a covered bowl, a tall glass of orange juice, a napkin, and a spoon.
    “Who are you?” Edith asked as she removed the cover from the bowl. A stench similar to soured laundry beat at her nostrils. She re-covered the bowl before her stomach could betray her disgust. “Where am I?”
    “I Tsung, and you in Mista Dutch house.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “No need beg pardon. Mista Dutch bring you. Is okay you be here.”
    Edith shook her head, then wished she hadn’t. The oddly named Tsung obviously did not understand. “I need to get back to Madame Duval’s bordello. And,” she cast a glance at her blanket covered form, “I need my clothes.”
    “Missee, you got all clothes you come with. Mista Dutch say Missee Duval bad. You no go there.”
    “I don’t believe you understand. I must get to Madame Duval’s. Please take me there this instant.”
    “Oh no,” said Tsung Tsang, backing away with tray in hand. “I not have Mista Dutch throw temper. You stay. I lock you in.” Tsung reached inside her voluminous blouse and drew out a long chain with a key dangling on its end.
    “No. Don’t lock that door.” In her lifetime, Edith had been locked into too many rooms.
    “You promise no go to Missee Duval.”
    Edith considered her opponent. Tsung’s narrowed eyes and jutting chin dared defiance.
    “I promise.” Edith swallowed. “But, please, I need something to wear. Can you go to Madame Duval’s and get my trunks?”
    Tsung shook her head. “I stay here. Promise Mista Dutch I look after you.”
    Edith frowned. “I don’t call letting me sit around with only a blanket to cover me looking after me very well, and so I shall tell Mista Dutch when I see him.”
    Tsung’s golden skin paled. “You make Mista Dutch angry. He throw temper. Break Tsung head. Who look after you then?”
    Edith didn’t much care if Mista Dutch threw the world’s worst tantrum. Frustration would serve him right. She fully intended to give him a healthy piece of her mind the moment she saw him. And the slap of her hand on his handsome, devious face. She’d probably leave the servant out of it, but Edith didn’t need to tell the woman that. Not as long as Mista Dutch and his temper could be used to get what Edith wanted most immediately — clothing that covered her. “I can, when necessary, take care of myself,” she said evenly. “Can you?”
    Having backed all the way to the door, Tsung swallowed. “I get clothes. You wait.”
    Before Edith could protest, Tsung disappeared through the door. The lock clicked, and Edith was alone. Alone with a throbbing head, a dress she wouldn’t wish on a prostitute, and