Free The Copper and the Madam by Karyn Gerrard Page B

surface. The
teasing she’d endured from childhood until her later years. She had
been rather fat as a young girl. As she grew older, she also grew
taller and stretched out a bit, but the plumpness never left. She
knew most men preferred those willowy, tall women she had seen
gliding about the shops at Piccadilly Circus.
    She wore nothing under her shift. She’d been
nude for many men in the past. The luxury of modesty that left her
at age fifteen had never returned. With a swift motion, she pulled
the garment over her head and tossed it on the floor next to Rory’s
discarded shirt and vest.
    “God above in his heaven,” he moaned.
    His eyes flickered with molten heat. Taking
her hand, he led her toward the bed.
    “I want to touch you now, Rhiannon. Lie you
on the bed and explore every inch of your skin. I want to bring you
pleasure.”
    She glanced down at his arousal. “What about
your needs?”
    “Tonight is about you, Rhiannon.”
    A lump formed in her throat as she recalled
Lydia’s words. “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.”
    Rea wanted to throw herself against that
muscular chest and sob her heart out. Instead, she followed him to
the bed. She lay down, and Rory stretched out on his side next to
her.
    He cupped the heft of her breast and brushed
his thumb by her already erect nipple.
    “Beautiful, your breasts are glorious. Your
body lush.” He spread his hand wide and moved across her ample hips
while he laid soft, passionate kisses on her chest.
    She was aroused. Very aroused. She
writhed under his touch, hot moisture gathered in her quim, and the
flames moved upward until soft moans escaped her lips.
    A man’s touch once filled her with
abhorrence. Rory’s didn’t—in any way. His kisses trailed lower as
his fingers brushed by her curls. Oh, heaven .
    Rory froze, his head lifted. His puzzled gaze
studied her abdomen.
    “Rhiannon, darlin’….” His voice softened.
“When did you give birth to a babe?”

Chapter Ten
     
     
    Rory knew what those vertical marks on a
woman’s abdomen meant. Once, in the morgue, Doctor Williams had
pointed them out to him on a drowning victim from the Thames,
explaining it was one way to tell if a woman had given birth. The
skin stretched to accommodate the babe growing within. He called
them “striae.” He also said they could be caused by rapid weight
gain, but Rhiannon, by her own admission, had lost weight since her
youth. So childbirth remained the logical explanation. Deduction
was his forte after all.
    Her body grew rigid.
    “Talk to me, Rhiannon,” he coaxed.
    He did not wish for her to withdraw and grow
distant. He had enough of that between them these last years. Tears
escaped her lids and rolled down her temples, wetting the
pillow.
    His heart contracted in pain at her distress.
Rory pulled her close and threw the quilt over them both. With her
head burrowed against his chest, he rubbed her back in comfort.
    “Let it all out, lass.”
    Perhaps his gentle words opened the gate to
her pent-up sorrow, for Rhiannon sobbed quite loudly. Each agonized
howl speared his heart. He continued giving comfort, murmuring soft
assurances, stroking her cold, trembling skin, laying kisses to her
forehead. Never had he held a woman like this, nor given any part
of his heart before.
    Rhiannon’s mournful cries changed into
hiccups, until at last, she stilled. She fondled his chest as she
took deep breaths and exhaled.
    “I became pregnant immediately. It could have
been that horrible old earl who raped me or any of the disgusting
men who followed. No one had instructed me on how to avoid
pregnancy. The other whores wanted to take me to a woman who had
aborted theirs. The discussion, in which I had no say, ended with
the decision I would have the baby. How relieved I felt, believing
I would be given a reprieve from fucking. I had fanciful notions of
becoming a loving mother. God,