Secrets of Sin Read Online Free Page A

best of clients.
    With her cloying perfume, the much-too-round and much-too-small matron of the maison close of St. George’s dressed a little too indecently for her age and for Reinier’s taste, wore a little too much rouge on her cheeks and lips, and hid her graying hair under an absurdly large turban that bobbed like a pecking robin whenever she moved her head. But Madame Poivre had exquisite taste in deciding whom she’d let work for her. Reinier had to grant her that.
    Turning his head, Reinier smiled at her. “Please have a seat, madame, and tell us about this latest and oh-so-special acquisition of yours.” He accompanied his words with a graceful show of his hand, indicating she take the still-empty armchair.
    “Ahh,” Madame Poivre set out and nodded. “Certainement.” Her acquired French heritage almost hid her cockney accent completely.
    She placed the now-empty tray against the side of the third armchair, then sat down and leaned back, casually folding her legs. Obviously, she enjoyed the men’s attention and drew it out for her own sake. Finally, when she had arranged herself, she declared, “The young woman is completely inexperienced in this métier, messieurs.”
    Connor turned to her and interrupted rudely, “But she is not a virgin, is she? If so, I won’t—”
    “Oh, no, no!” Madame Poivre shook both her hands like the flopping wings of a butterfly, the turban on her head bouncing in tandem. “She isn’t all that innocent anymore. But she still needs some guidance as to what will be expected from ’er in the future.”
    Reinier tilted his head in thought. “Why us, madame?”
    Laughing, Madame Poivre’s elbows rested on the arms of the chair while she brought her fingertips together excitedly, as if applauding herself. “You seemed the right choice to introduce ’er to the ways of ’er new profession.”
    Reinier raised both his eyebrows and looked at Connor, who, in turn, shrugged as a sign that he didn’t understand either.
    “Messieurs.” Madame Poivre rolled her eyes. “I ’ave other girls ’oo ’ave already ’ad…shall we say…the pleasure of making your acquaintance? It was their ceaseless rhapsodizing that made me decide you should be the ones to educate ’er.”
    Reinier laughed low, an understanding, knowing purr. Connor chuckled into his fist.
    “I feel obliged to tell you, though,” Madame Poivre pointed out, “she is unattractively thin despite ’aving been ’ere for two weeks already. Moreover, she is unfashionably tall for a woman and ’er face is distorted with ghastly freckles.”
    Connor sat up and leaned forward. “Freckles, you say?”
    Reinier hid his smile in his handkerchief as he watched him. He already knew the Irishman could be quickly and easily charmed by blond, flaxen, golden straw or even tawny hair as long as it came with a lovely face. Personally, he couldn’t care less. Reinier failed to imagine how a woman with such a fair complexion could have ended up here, in a whorehouse in the Caribbean Sea, but he, too, did not think freckles could be classified as a “distortion.” For Connor, it was probably quite the contrary.
    Madame Poivre sighed. “I’m afraid so.”
    Perhaps it was time Reinier scattered Madame Poivre’s worries about the woman’s “unattractiveness.” He knew she’d be appealing. Madame Poivre had a good eye for beauty, after all. Therefore, Reinier stated dryly, “I do believe freckles pose no hindrance to our performance.”
    “Certainly not,” Connor chuckled.
    Madame Poivre sighed with relief and bowed her head gratefully.
    “So,” Reinier concluded, “we are to be the ones to give her her first lesson in licentiousness?”
    Madame Poivre bit her lower lip to swallow the mischievous grin crawling up her round face. “Do you feel up to it?”

2
    M adame Poivre was swaying her broad hips more than usual. Reinier could tell because he was right behind her when she was showing them up the stairs.