Free Wicked Company by Ciji Ware

London.”
    He stated the request as if it were perfectly reasonable to discuss with his local bookseller’s daughter his desire to add to his collection of obscenities. She assumed that his assortment of pictures stoked the fires of some warped craving in the man, and that now he must be in need of new stimulation.
    “My father is not here, sir, and I’m afraid I don’t know when he’s expected,” she said stiffly, rooted to the floor.
    Lord Lemore strolled toward her, a sardonic smile tugging at his features.
    “A happy accident, perhaps,” he murmured, drawing near. “I’m sure that, young as you are, you have the experience to assist me in selecting some additions to my noteworthy collection.”
    He gazed at her steadily, carefully placing his cane on the desk where her father kept his accounts.
    “I-I cannot help you, sir,” she stammered, her heart quickening with apprehension. “The type of engravings I delivered to you two months ago are not what we normally stock, you understand.”
    “Oh, but I am confident they are available to you,” he replied. “You are being too modest about your ability to locate what I want. I am told that you are wise beyond your years and know the book trade as well as your esteemed father.”
    “I don’t know about lewd etchings!” she exclaimed with an unexpected flash of anger. Immediately, however, she regretted her outburst. Lord Lemore eyed her narrowly, but remained silent. “I’m terribly sorry I can’t help you and I’m afraid, also, that you’ll have to excuse me, m’lord,” Sophie added with a politeness she certainly did not feel. “I have a printing order to complete.”
    “’Tis folly to speak so indiscreetly of lewdness, my dear,” the nobleman said in a low, menacing voice. “’Twould be disastrous for McGann’s, wouldn’t it now, if the good churchmen next door were to hear of your pronouncing such blasphemies? If you cannot supply my needs, I shall seek elsewhere. Good day.”
    With that, he snatched his walking stick off the desk and turned on his heel. Heading for the door, he nearly collided with Hunter Robertson, who was just then sauntering across the threshold.
    Sophie clung to the door frame of the printing chamber, her face drained of color as she watched Lord Lemore stride into the High Street without a backward glance.
    “Hello, lass… have you an hour to spare for a reading lesson?” He peered at her closely. “Are you all right?” he inquired solicitously. “You look fashed, and that’s a fact.”
    “Th-that man…” Sophie began, and then burst into tears.
    “What man? The coxcomb who just left the shop?” Hunter sent a confused look over his shoulder at Lord Lemore’s figure, retreating down the road. He put a brotherly arm around Sophie’s heaving shoulders.
    “That coxcomb, as you just called him, is Lord Lemore!” Sophie blurted. She reached for a corner of her printer’s apron and dried her eyes. “He’s a man of great influence in Edinburgh and a good customer of my da.”
    “So?” Hunter asked practically. “Best to tug yer forelock and be polite to those aristos and leave ’em be,” he advised.
    “But he could do us dreadful harm!” Sophie wailed and found her eyes filling with tears once again.
    “Why? How? Sweetling, whatever is the matter?” Hunter responded, folding his arms around her again protectively. “What can a coxcomb like him do to such a brave lass as you, will you tell me now?” he teased.
    “H-he can h-hurt Da,” she gulped. “He can tell th-those kirk elders about the p-pictures!”
    “Pictures?” Hunter asked, bewildered. “But ye sell books at McGann’s. What would Lord Lemore be wanting with pictures?”
    “I don’t know why anyone would want those horrid engravings!” Sophie shuddered. “I suppose Da only sends for them from London when things are as wretched as they are now!”
    Hunter sat her down on her stool where they usually had their reading lessons and