Bastien Read Free

daughter. Her reputation is of a great concern to him.”
    His coffers are most likely the greater concern. I scowl at the butler pointedly avoiding my gaze. Snatching up the letter, I crumple it into a ball and toss it on the hearth fire. “The short answer, Jacques, was ‘no, my Lord Bastien.’”
    He bows away without a word.
    “Bastien!” Louis calls impatiently.
    I snarl at nothing and follow him out to the carriage.

    Chapter Three
    Our usual haunt is The Howling Monkey. It is an establishment of questionable repute, to be sure, but the tavern is always well stocked and the inn’s rooms are decently appointed and usually clean. The owner, a pot-bellied, balding man with half his teeth missing, greets us as soon as we enter. He knows us—we pay well for his silence.
    “I see you’ve invited more company,” I tell Louis, seeing a number of familiar faces among the patrons here.
    “The more the merrier,” Louis assures me. He has, in fact, invited several more of his circle.
    I find no fault with his choices.
    Young Firmin has an ill advised penchant for gambling, not that any of us ever bother to advise. He always knows where the players are rife for fleecing. It is his execution that usually falls short. Even now he has his marked deck of cards laid out on the table, practicing sleight of hand which will get one of his appendages cut off at some point.
    Gaspard and Edgard are twin cloth merchants who spend their days ogling half naked women through a peep hole. They are young enough to be shy around females, and for that I am inclined to overlook their deviance. Though I have offered to introduce them to women well versed in handling inexperienced men, they obstinately insist they can find their own whores.
    Adrien is the reasonable one of the lot. Besides me, he can most easily talk us out of trouble with the more respectable denizens with whom we share this world. Unbeknownst to said denizens, he is also the most wicked, with proclivities even I sometimes question.
    And then there are the ladies of our company. Liliane, Honorine, Brigitte, and Adeline. One lovelier than the next. Wicked, wicked creatures the lot of them. I could paint their bodies with my eyes closed—and have, on occasion, done just that. Liliane and Brigitte are femme fatales in the making. The moment their fathers are gone and buried, I fully expect them to go gallivanting into the world without a care for consequence. Adeline makes true the saying that quiet waters run deep. She keeps her own counsel because she stutters when she finds herself the center of attention. What she lacks as a conversationalist, she makes up for with ardor. A brilliant strategist, in bed and out of it. True to her name, Honorine is a virgin. We allow her among us because ... well, I’m not quite sure why. She is a tease of the vilest kind. I suppose that endears her to me quite a bit.
    “The Fellowship of Depravity convenes once again,” I note.
    “Bastien,” Liliane greets with a saucy grin and wink.
    I bow to them all, and when Adeline offers her hand, I take it, pull her close and kiss her cheek. “Good evening, my Lord,” she says.
    “Good evening, my dear,” I reply.
    The serving wenches load our table with ale, obliging us to stay a while. It would be rude to refuse, and so we amuse ourselves until nightfall with drink and a friendly game of cards. We do not play for money but for favors. Rarely does anyone collect on them. If we did, Firmin would be my slave for the rest of his life, and I would have to clean out Louis’ stables for a year.
    The men may know their tricks, but it would take a stronger man than any of us to keep his focus against the wiles of our womenfolk.
    My hand is good, and with a little playacting I can convince the others that it is even better. I am preparing to do so when Honorine says, “I want to raise the wager.” Just the way she says this has all of us rapt on her. She smiles and traces the neckline of her low