Free To Seduce a Sinner by Elizabeth Hoyt Page B

which the man and wife were civil and nothing more seemed . . . cold. And rather unpleasant, actually.

    Jasper shook his head. Perhaps matrimony was having a morbid effect on his brain. That might explain these odd thoughts. He stood and set the glass by the decanter on a side table. His rooms were more than twice as large as his new wife’s. But that fact only made the space hard to adequately light at night. Shadows loomed in the corners near the wardrobe and around the big bed.

    He disrobed and washed himself in the chilly water already in his rooms. He could’ve sent down for fresh, warm water, but he didn’t like anyone entering his rooms after dark. Even Pynch’s presence made him restless. He blew out all but one candle. Picking that up, he took it into his dressing room. Here there was a small bed such as a valet might use. Pynch, however, had other rooms, and this bed was never used. Beside the bed, in the corner against the far wall, was a rather wretched pallet.

    Jasper set the candle on the floor near the pallet and checked, as he did every night, that everything was here. There was a bundled pack with a change of clothes, water in a tin canteen, and some bread. Pynch refreshed the loaf and water every couple of days or so, even though Jasper had never discussed his pack with his valet. Beside the pae’sBeside ck was a small knife and a steel and flint. He knelt and wrapped the one blanket about his naked shoulders before lying down on the thin pallet, his back to the wall. He stared for a moment at the flickering shadows the candle cast against the ceiling, and then he closed his eyes.

Chapter Four

    By and by, Jack came upon another old man in tattered rags sitting by the side of the road.

    “Have you aught to give me to eat?” the second beggar called in a disagreeable voice.

    Jack set down his pack and took out some cheese. The old man snatched it from his hand and gobbled it down. Jack brought out a loaf of bread. The old man ate the entire loaf and then held out his hands for more. Jack shook his head and dug to the very bottom of his pack to find an apple.

    The old man devoured the apple and said, “Is this rubbish all that you can offer?”

    And finally Jack’s patience broke. “For pity’s sake, man! You’ve eaten the last of my food and not a word of thanks in return. I’ll be on my way and damn you for my trouble!”

    —from LAUGHING JACK

    Renshaw House was the grandest place Sally Suchlike had ever seen, and she was still a bit in awe. Cor! Pink and black marble floors, carved wood furniture so delicate the legs looked hardly more than toothpicks, and fancy embroidered silks and brocades and velvets everywhere, yards and yards of them, much more than was needed to cover a window or chair, all just draped for the finery of it. Oh, Mr. Fleming’s house had been lovely, but this, this was like living in His Majesty’s own palace; it was so beautiful. Indeed it was!
    And wasn’t it an amazing step up from the Seven Dials area where she’d been born and had lived? If you could call living working every day from sunup until sundown, picking up horseshit and dog shit and any other shit to be found and sold again for just a scrap of bread and a tiny piece of gristly meat if she and her pa were lucky. She’d stayed until the age of twelve, which was when her pa had talked about marrying her off to his friend Pinky, a large, stinking man with all his front teeth missing. She’d seen a life full of shit and sorrow if she married Pinky, stretching away until she died too young in the same neighborhood she’d been born in.

    Sally had run away that very night to seek her fortune as a kitchen wench. She’d been clever and quick, and when the cook had found a better house—Mr. Fleming’s—she’d taken Sally along with her. And Sally had worked—hard. She’d made sure not to find herself alone with any footman or butcher’s boy. For the last thing she needed was to get herself