Free Secret Night by Anita Mills

from his seat As they righted him, he seemed to rouse, then was heartily sick. It was a good time to withdraw. While Emmaline Rand bent over her husband to dab at his face with a napkin, Patrick took his cloak and hat from the rack in the foyer and let himself out.
    At the curb, he looked back at Rand's grand house. Upstairs, a woman stood watching the street, her slender botly silhouetted against the window. Certain it was Elise Rand, he raised his hand to her. But instead of acknowledging she'd seen him, she closed the shutters, and he heard the sound of the latch clicking into place. Beyond having no wish to flirt with him, she obviously did not want to continue any acquaintance.
    Weary almost beyond reason, he mounted the step of his carriage and flung his botly into the seat. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and saw Elise Rand in his memory. She was considerably smaller than her temper, he guessed she could not be more than a couple of inches above five feet, but she'd felt uncommonly good in his arms. For a moment he remembered smelling the clean scent of lavender on her skin, then he caught himself. For a man noted for sense and reason, he was behaving more like a mooncalf than one about to promise himself to the Earl of Dunster's daughter.
    In the house behind him, Elise Rand watched from a crack in the shutters while Hamilton's carriage rolled slowly down the nearly deserted street. As the coach turned the corner, her fingers crept to her mouth, and she remembered the warmth of his breath against her cheek, the intimacy of his lips touching hers, and her thoughts turned again to Ben, recalling his all-too-few kisses. But despite his lower birth, Ben Rose had been the greater gentleman, she reminded herself.
    Wait around the corner for me, if you please," she ordered her driver crisply. "I shan't be above ten minutes."
    "Got to go with ye," a liveried coachman insisted, jumping down to the street.
    The fewer tales carried home the better, but even as she thought it, she knew her father was going to be mad as fire anyway. As if he were not alreatly angry enough about Hamilton. But, looking at the narrow building that housed Magdalene Coates's infamous establishment, she wavered. Too many stories had come out about how innocent females had been coerced into prostitution.
    "All right," she decided. "I may need you to carry her things."
    Determined, she screwed her courage to the sticking point and marched to the door. Behind her, the coachman eyed the building skeptically. "Sure ye got it right, miss? It don't look like no place fer ye ter be."
    "Yes."
    Before she could bang the knocker, a beefy fellow opened the door, looked her up and down, then started to close it.
    "Wait! I'd speak with Pearl—please."
    The doorman paused, but the expression on his face was utterly inhospitable.
    Elise licked her dry lips. "All right. You may tell Mrs. Coates that Miss Rand begs a word with her."
    "She ain't receiving."
    "I shall make it worth her while."
    He eyed her curiously. "And how'd ye do that?"
    Glancing down the street first, she furtively dug into her beaded reticule and drew out a money purse. Smiling at the doorkeeper, she held out a gold guinea. "For you—if I am allowed to see Mrs. Coates."
    He took the money, then assessed her person more boldly, his eyes lingering on the swell of her bosom before returning to her face. "Ye ain't her kind."
    "I should hope I am not, but I have come to her on a matter of business." Daring to step closer, she tried to calm the rapid beating of her heart. "Tell her I wish to purchase one of her girls. And—and if you think to attempt anything, I have brought Will with me."
    Unimpressed, he shrugged. Turning around to speak to someone she could not see, he apparently argued about something. When his attention returned to Elise, he opened the door wider.
    "Sorry, miss, but there's a gentry cove with 'er."
    "Please." She licked her lower lip again. "Tell her—tell her I can afford