Free The Copper and the Madam by Karyn Gerrard

throat cut, and his
body mutilated. Still have nightmares over it.” Freeman took a long
drink.
    Jaysus. Same as Gordon. The coincidence had
his gut alarm clanging with decided force. No possible way to tie
it all together, unless Southen confessed. No chance of that
happening. But deep in his gut, he knew it was Southen. The man
came back to his country estate to lick his wounds after being
beaten and humiliated. Meanwhile, his bloodlust and thirst for
revenge grew, so much so, he slaked it on a poor local lad. The
kill must have given him confidence and a taste for more blood,
enough to head back to London and take his retribution on
Rhiannon.
    A fierce wave of emotion rolled through him.
He wanted to protect her, keep her close. Christ, he’d never had
these feelings for a woman before, not even his own mother. Rory
took a drink.
    “Bad enough killing the lad, but desecrating
the body? The man must be unhinged,” he stated.
    “Aye, my thoughts exactly.” Freeman replied.
“All but cut the lad’s cock off. Churned my guts, it did.”
    Rory sat back. It was Southen. He knew
it with every fiber of his being. He patted his coat pocket where
he kept his Bulldog revolver. He would protect Rhiannon at all
costs.
     
    ***
     
    Rea tried to nap, but to no avail. She
replayed Rory’s words in her mind. He wanted more with her than
friendship. He wanted them to become physical. Wasn’t that what she
wanted? Yes and no. When she sat next to him on the train, curled
against his hard, muscled torso, her insides had turned to custard.
She reacted to Rory; she always did. The scenarios had played out
in her mind for the last several years in her nighttime dreams and
wistful daytime imaginings. Her logical mind held her back. She did
not like sex. Granted, her initiation into the act had been a
brutal rape. One did not recover from that easily, if at all. All
the men who came after were rutting pigs.
    Lydia told her one night while they had tea
that sex between a man and a woman could be tender, passionate, and
caring. Rea had laughed at that assessment, but Lydia waved her
off. “If you can find a man who puts your needs and wants above all
else, including his own, then hold onto him for dear life. If you
can find a man to trust with your body and your mind, but
especially your heart and soul, then you are truly blessed.”
    Rea dismissed her prattle at the time as
romantic nonsense, but was it? She moved to the window and glanced
into the lane below. The sun had set. A few men staggered out of
the pub and continued down the road. She smoothed her hands over
her rounded stomach and curvy hips. She wore nothing but a shift;
her small carpetbag could not hold much else besides the blue gown
she brought. How freeing it felt to be without the encumbrance of a
wig, heavy makeup, and stays. She ran her fingers through her hair.
It touched her shoulders, shorter than she liked, but her locks had
to fit under the wigs she wore.
    Rea sat on the edge of the large bed they
would both be sleeping in. A shiver ran down her spine. She both
dreaded and desired the prospect. How would she ever be able to
sort out her emotions and trepidations? Could she trust Rory? Truth
be told, she already did. He proved to be more capable, forthright,
and honest than most men. Very well. All men in her
acquaintance. Giving him possession of her body and, more
importantly, her closed-off heart was another matter.
    Rory entered, red in the face no doubt from
the drink, the not disagreeable odors of tobacco and beer on him.
He took off his hat, tossing it to a nearby chair. He gave her a
heated gaze, and nodded. His coat fell to the floor with a heavy
clunk.
    “What was that?” she questioned.
    “My gun.”
    “Can I see it?”
    “Ah, darlin’, how I wish you were asking to
see something else.”
    She flushed at his naughty, teasing tone.
Rory reached down to his rumpled coat and handed her the revolver.
The gun felt heavier than she thought it would be.