Free The Affair of the Porcelain Dog by Jess Faraday Page A

choked. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. Sweet Christ, he had done it. He refilled my glass. I set it on the floor immediately, lest my shaking hands be the ruin of a piece of furniture worth more than my life.
    "I've been giving it some thought," he said. "If a great ox of a constable can't walk the streets at night, what chance does a pretty young thing like you stand out there, hmm?"
    I opened my mouth to speak. But it hadn't been an actual question, and he didn't pause for an answer.
    "No, Ira--may I call you Ira?--your present circumstances simply will not do."
    That was God's own truth. I was in a right spot, and it was his doing. All the same, I knew a deal with the devil when I saw it coming. Unfortunately the devil never seemed to bother unless a person was in no position to refuse. The least I could do was to let him know the seriousness of my position in hopes of a better deal.
    "It were bad enough," I said carefully, "wot 'appened to the constable wivout people sayin' it were me wot done it."
    His smugness faltered--a tightening of the lips, a short, sharp inhalation, an almost imperceptible widening of the eyes--but he quickly recovered.
    "How unexpected." He leaned down to gather up my sherry glass. He placed it back in my hand and closed my fingers around it. "And how undesirable. No matter," he continued. "You were here when the deed occurred. You have two witnesses to that effect."
    I laughed. "I don't fink they'd take eiver of us at our word." I tipped the glass back quickly so I wouldn't have to look at his face, which I was certain was flushing with anger at my ungratefulness and temerity. "Well, y-your word is good, I'm sure, sir," I stammered. "But the police won't never take the word of no whore."
    "Whore?" His mouth quirked to one side, as if the word somehow amused him. "Whore, my boy? You're my secretary, engaged here last night on business: facts to which I'll testify, should it come to that. But it won't."
    "Your..."
    "That was what I wanted to talk to you about last night before you fell asleep. I assume you'd have accepted, so, for all intents and purposes, as of last night you were no longer a whore, but my personal and confidential secretary."
    I'm rarely speechless, which has often led to no end of misery. But though Goddard's proposition would have got me out of a world of trouble, I had no idea how to respond. I'd heard the word before, but I had no clue regarding the duties of a secretary--save it involved skills laughably out of my ken.
    And the regular wearing of suits.
    "I'll teach you what you need to know, yes," he said, warming to the subject. He brushed a drop of sherry from the corner of my mouth and touched his finger to his tongue. "You'll live here, of course. And take your meals here. And your clothing--"
    "But..."
    "And you won't have to worry about the police, not now or ever again. I am, you'll find, a most convenient ally."
    "But..."
    "And in return, all I ask is your exclusive companionship. Unless, of course, you prefer your current situation," he added.
    "But--wot--why--"
    He chuckled darkly, his eyes black, smoldering coals--the eyes of the devil himself. Yet, as he laid a warm hand on my thigh, my only thought was of delicious surrender. It would be so easy, and, what did I really have to lose?
    "I have people in your world, Ira," he said. "But they serve me out of fear, or out of greed. Which means I can never trust them completely."
    "Wot makes you fink you can trust me completely?" I asked.
    He frowned, as if actually considering the question. Then he laughed. "You could, I suppose, rob me while I'm away, eh? Murder me in my sleep--or attempt to. But you're not stupid."
    His hand on my thigh was solid and warm. Despite the fact Cain Goddard scared the living hell out of me, certain parts of my anatomy were rising to the occasion. I gasped as his fingers moved to the crease of my thigh. When he spoke again, his voice was smoky, his lips brushing against