Lord of Pleasure Read Online Free Page B

shut behind him.
    The driver snapped the reins and off they clattered.
    Charlotte swiped at the top of her hand, where his lips had been, wishing she could remove the very thought of him as easily as she could remove her glove. Him and his insufferable ways. Why, he gave the driver ten pounds. And her? Mere advice. After a bit of indulging!
    A gentleman? No. He most certainly was not.

Lesson Three
    M any times the past has an odd way of making its way into the present .
    And many times, I confess, the results can be quite pleasant .
    — The School of Gallantry
    11 Berwick Street
Late morning, the following day
    “Is anyone at home?” The pounding against the front door continued. “Anyone? Anyone at all? ”
    Charlotte tightened her grip on the iron poker she’d snatched up when the man first came to the door. For some impertinent reason, he refused to leave. She was certain that the lawyer had sent him to collect the last payment she’d missed. Quite certain.
    “What is it that you want?” she finally yelled through the bolted door. “My employer doesn’t permit me to associate with anyone who doesn’t have an appointment.” A fib, for she lived entirely alone, but much warranted. She knew better than to open the door to every Jack who wanted in. Especially when said Jack was being sent by someone who wanted money. Money she did not have.
    There was a pause. “I certainly hope this here delivery counts for an appointment, Miss!” the man hollered back.
    Charlotte frowned and edged closer to the smooth surface of the door. The good news was that he wasn’t looking to collect money. The not-so-good news was that she hadn’t ordered anything. Which meant that most likely he would still be looking to collect money.
    “What is it?” she demanded through the door. “Is it paid for? Because if it isn’t, take it away!”
    The man grumbled on the other side. “I don’t know what it is, Miss!” He was clearly losing his patience. “Though, yes, it’s been paid for! It be urgent, I was told! Ain’t allowed to even set it down! Now, be a good lass and open this here door! I don’t get paid until it’s delivered, and I’ve six mouths to feed!” He pounded against the door again, with what had to have been his foot.
    Though she was hesitant to open the door, she sensed that the man was in fact genuine. Otherwise he wouldn’t be so rude. Or persistent.
    Shifting the poker into her other hand, she quickly unbolted the door, edged it open, and peered at the mustached man whose face was bright red against the strain of the large trunk he held.
    “Forced to use my damn boot to knock, I was,” the man grumbled on, shifting beneath the weight of his delivery.
    “My apologies, sir. My employer refuses to be disturbed when unnecessary.” Charlotte threw the door farther open and stepped back, hiding the iron poker behind her while taking on the persona of a humble maid. “Set it right here in the corridor.”
    The man stumbled forward with the trunk then set it on the floor. Blowing out a breath, he glanced about the bare corridor and the adjoining empty parlor. “Your employer just moved in, did he?” He glanced toward her.
    “Uh…yes.” She smiled tightly and gestured with her free hand to the door. “Thank you.”
    The man nodded curtly and hurried out.
    Charlotte slammed the door behind him, thankful to be rid of him, then set the poker into the corner next to the door and bolted all four locks. Leaning her forehead against the cool surface of the wood, she huffed out a breath, hating how utterly defenseless she always felt. Even in her own home. There had to be a better way to live. There simply had to be.
    She pushed herself away from the door and slowly turned toward the large leather trunk at her feet. What could possibly be in it? And who could it be from?
    Kneeling, she ran her bare hands along the length of the thick, leather straps holding it shut. The trunk alone was worth a solid