Free Willing by Michaela Wright Page B

out of the kindness of my own heart, love? You’re dafter than ye look.”
    “Alisdair had you switch my room? Why?”
    “Constance! Berty!”
    The voice cracked slightly as it called up the stairs, betraying a nervous, almost panicked tinge. Constance was up from her chair and hustling down the hallway toward the landing, just a few steps behind Berty, who despite her girth could move like a fox.
    Berty reached the landing first. “Good evening, your Lordship.”
    Constance stopped dead at the top of the stairs, staring down at the handsome face of Lord Alisdair, tucking his bowler hat under his arm as he bowed in greeting. “Good evening, ladies. I was hoping to have a word with our Constance, here.”
    Berty glanced back at Constance, her once wrathful gaze now softened, and almost pleading. Berty acknowledged the nobleman and invited him up the stairs.
    Constance tugged at Berty’s sleeve, whispering. “What’re you doing? I’m not properly dressed!”
    “You’re a whore, Connie. I’m sure the man expects no less.”
    “Bitch.” Constance hissed at Berty as Alisdair made his way up the steps.  He was dressed in a brown and taupe three piece suit, his dark brown vest peeking out from under his tailored coat. He was dressed for a day of traveling it looked, his hair perfectly slicked back, despite having been beneath the hat.
    Constance glanced down the hallway, catching the peeking faces of all the other girls, curious to see what was happening this early in the evening. Four in the afternoon on a Monday wasn’t the busiest time for a brothel.
    Alisdair reached the top of the stairs and Berty curtsied awkwardly. Then she ducked down the stairs. Alisdair reached for Constance’s hand, and when she offered it, he bent and kissed her knuckles. The gesture made her stomach churn.
    “Is there somewhere private that we might talk?”
    She swallowed. “Of course. Follow me please – err, My Lord.”
    He chuckled, giving a nod to the faces in each of the doorways as they passed. Constance reached her door at the end of the hall, and Alisdair gestured for her to go first. He then closed the door behind him.
    “Do forgive my impertinence. I should have sent word that I would be coming.”
    Constance shook her head. “No, no. You needn’t apologize. It’s not exactly an appointment only establishment.”
    He laughed, and pointed to the chairs by the window. “May I sit?”
    “Of course.”
    “Will you join me?” He asked, gesturing to the other chair.
    “No, you will forgive me if I choose to stand for the moment, please?”
    He smiled. “Of course. Such an articulate creature.”
    She watched him settle in the chair, nervously playing with her fingertips. “Not what you’ve come to expect in the Keg and Barrel?”
    She was joking, but her tone was terse. Constance was pacing, she realized – short little paths across the length of the Oriental rug. She was also tugging at the fabric of her sleeve, twisting the corset ties at her waist over and over until the blood began to pool in her fingertip.
    “I’ve heard you were unwilling to attend this evening.”
    She stopped, and for the first time since he arrived, looked him in the eye. She imagined the room of robed figures without a willing altar to pray over. She swallowed. “Well, I am sorry.”
    “You needn’t be. I completely understand your caution.”
    “You do?”
    Constance’s voice cracked with her words, and she winced to hear it. Alisdair simply leaned back in his chair, setting his hat on the side table before entwining his fingers in his lap. “I do. And I think I owe you an explanation.”
    She glanced at him before her pace returned. “Of what?”
    He chuckled. “Well, of why I need you as I do.”
    “No, no. I don’t need to know anything about that.”
    Her hands had shot up before her, splaying her fingers as though she might hold his words at bay. She instantly conjured notions of Devil Worship and going to hell for all