Deeper in Sin Read Free Page A

terrible experiences in Ceylon. Perhaps I could give you some comfort.”
    â€œI’m afraid I’m not ready for comfort yet.” He bowed, then walked away, followed by his friend Saxonby.
    â€œLet us get you a drink, Caradon,” the friend said.
    Sophie was intrigued. The Duke of Caradon was simply gorgeous.
    It had been a long time since Samuel had died at Waterloo—almost five years. For the first time in a long time, Sophie was looking at a man and her heart was pounding hard and she was thinking: I would want him to kiss me.
    Then she saw Angelique’s expression, and Sophie gasped. The courtesan watched the duke leave with pure venom in her eyes.
    Angelique turned and glared at her. “Who in heaven’s name are you?” she snapped.
    Damn! Sophie didn’t answer. She whirled around and raced after the two dukes, trying to vanish into the crowd and also, hopefully, meet the dukes.
    She almost caught up to the men. Then she overheard Saxonby say, “Don’t give up hope—you’ll find a female yet. Remember your obligation to your nursery.”
    Now Sophie was mixed up. Nurseries were for babies. Was the duke looking for a wife? Here?
    Even from behind, the Duke of Caradon was obviously handsome. His golden hair shone in the candlelight. He had impressive shoulders and a narrow waist. Neither he nor Saxonby were behaving like the other men here—no pawing, loud laughter, silly remarks.
    The thing was—her mother had been a courtesan. She hadn’t known, not until she had fallen pregnant with Samuel’s child. Then she had been told the truth. But she didn’t know her mother’s name. Her mother had left her a letter, signed only “Your Mother.” And her mother had left the unfinished manuscript. The story of her life as a courtesan. In it, her mother insisted that sometimes protectors fell in love with their mistresses.
    But a gentleman of the aristocracy wouldn’t be so eccentric as to look for a wife at a courtesan’s party, would he—?
    A hand grasped her arm and roughly jerked her back. “Don’t run away from me,” snapped a hard female voice. “How did you get in?”
    A hand in a white satin glove clutched her arm. Hard enough to make bruises.
    It was Angelique.
    Sophie knew she must be honest. She had seen this woman cattily rip another woman’s skirt, but surely, Angelique would understand how desperate she was. Surely, that would touch her heart.
    â€œI’ve just come to London,” she explained. She spilled out her story as fast as she could. In her fancy corset, designed to make her look fashionable, she quickly became breathless. But she managed to get out every detail—about how she had been turned out of her house, how her husband was dead (it wasn’t exactly a lie; though Samuel wasn’t really her husband, they had planned to marry), and how there were three children who needed food.
    Angelique looked at her coldly. “So you saw fit to come without an invitation. Admittance is granted only by me or by the other five hostesses.”
    â€œI know it was wrong, but you must understand, I have to support my family,” Sophie pleaded. “I have to ensure the children have enough to eat. They have the best natures and have endured everything so far very stoically. We’ve had to sleep in barns. And scrounge for food. Though we’ve never stolen anything. We would never—”
    â€œDo please stop,” Angelique demanded. The woman put her gloved hand to her head as if Sophie’s hurried words had given her a headache. Angelique’s eyes narrowed—she had huge eyes, and though her hair was pale blond, her lashes were dark and her eyes were rimmed carefully in black. “You are following the Duke of Caradon. I want to know why.”
    When Sophie didn’t answer, Angelique tightened her grip. “You will tell me now.”
    Sophie