Free Pleasuring the Prince by Patricia Grasso

exciting,” Genevieve remarked.
    “Contrary to popular belief, a constable leads a boring daily life.” Alexander smiled. “The exciting moments come few and far between.”
    Genevieve leaned close and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do you think you will capture the rose-petal murderer?”
    “I promise we will catch him eventually.” Seizing the opportunity to comfort and touch, Alexander reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. “You have nothing to fear if you keep alert.”
    “How does he kill them?”
    “I will not discuss that, but the women don’t look as if they’ve suffered.”
    “Tell me, how well acquainted are you and Fancy?”
    Alexander knew she was interested in him and digging for details of his life. No matter their circumstance, all women possessed certain habits. Digging for details was one of them.
    “Fancy and I are almost brother and sister.” Alexander noted that detail seemed to relax her. “We have been neighbors our entire lives. Tell me about Genevieve Stover.”
    “When my parents died,” Genevieve said, “my brother and I inherited my house on Compton Street. He moved to another house when he married, and I rent rooms to dancers and actresses. That man over there is staring at us.”
    Alexander looked across the pub. The well-dressed man worked for his grandfather, and the knowledge that his grandfather was monitoring his activities irritated him.
    “Do you know him?”
    Alexander shook his head, feigning unconcern. “He must recognize you from the opera. Do you have any free time for me tomorrow?”
    Genevieve’s smile could have lit the whole pub. “Tomorrow is Sunday, no opera. I will come to your house and cook you lunch.”
    “I would like that.” Alexander mentally rubbed his hands together. A woman offering to cook was definitely interested. He could hardly believe his luck. Beautiful opera singers were usually looking for wealthy protectors, but Genevieve wanted him.
    A short time later, Alexander and Genevieve faced each other in front of her Compton Street home. Ever so gently, he touched his lips to hers.
    “Good evening, Genevieve.”
    They broke apart, almost guilty, when another person spoke.
    Dressed in red, one of the ballet dancers flounced past them as a coach halted. The coachman climbed down, helped the sultry brunette inside, and returned to his perch.
    “That was Phoebe,” Genevieve said. “She lost her lover, Lord Parkhurst, and is prowling for another.”
    Alexander planted another kiss on her lips, murmuring, “Until tomorrow…”
    Humming a spritely tune, Alexander reached Soho Square fifteen minutes later. He started up his front stairs and stopped short when he spied the person sitting there.
    “Where the bloody blue blazes have you been? I’ve been waiting forever.”
    Long-legged, blond, and sweet clashed with petite, ebony-haired, and smart-mouthed. The comparison showed Raven Flambeau in a less than flattering light.
    “I need to speak with you.” Raven gazed into what she considered the handsomest face in London. “It’s urgent.”
    “Come inside, then.” He turned his back to unlock the door.
    Raven had sat near her window for hours waiting for him to come home. She knew she could help him with the rose-petal case. Working together would bring them closer, and Alex would notice that she’d grown into a woman. Then he would love her as she loved him.
    Alexander lit a night candle, poured himself a dram of whiskey, and gulped it. He faced her, his gaze dropping to her scantily clad body, and then set the glass on the mantel.
    Raven smothered a smile. She had purposely dropped her shawl to let him see she was no longer a child. Her gauzy nightgown left nothing to the imagination, and she watched his gaze fix on her breasts and thrusting nipples.
    Grabbing the woolen shawl, Alexander wrapped it around her and stepped back several paces. “Tell me what is so urgent, brat.”
    Brat. That one word told Raven