hunching over books all day."
Serena closed the book on her finger, heart pounding. He'll guess. He'll know what I'm planning. "Matthew didn't care what I did during his absences, and I would welcome losing my looks."
"Don't be so pissing stupid, Serry. If you weren't a raving beauty I'd throw you out to scrub floors. You'd soon find marriage a better deal than that. I reckon old Riverton spoiled you."
He came over and twitched the book out of her hands. "What now? Byron? Keats?" Then he let it fall open and burst out laughing. "Oh, Serry, you are a one! Got a taste for it, did you? Can't see why you're so stiff-rumped about marriage, then."
Serena realized with horror that the book she'd mindlessly plucked from the shelf was one of her brothers' foul erotic tomes. She knew because Tom was waving an illustration in front of her. "Like that, do you?" he asked, eyeing the contorted picture.
Serena couldn't say no and not raise suspicion, but she couldn't force herself to say yes, either.
Her brother looked at her red face and shook his head. "And you can still blush, too. You're a strange one, Serry, and no mistake. But I can see why the men go crazy over you. Miss Prim and Proper with a whore's body and a whore's eyes. And a whore's mind, I see. That's your role in life, you know. Whore. With your figure, and the way you move, and the look you always have of just emerging from a spicy bed..."
His eyes were defiling her again.
"Perhaps we should widen the bidding," he said thoughtfully. "There's not many want you for a wife, but a mistress, now, that's another matter. As a mistress you could go to the highest in the land—a lord, a duke even. Being barren's a feather in the cap of a Cyprian."
Serena just stood there, letting his words wash over her. She was leaving. None of this would happen to her.
He put the book back in her hand and patted it with a parody of fondness. "Off you go, sister, and study your trade."
Clutching the book, Serena hurried out of the library, her brother's coarse laughter echoing behind her. Once out of doors, she forced herself to walk calmly through the chilly November garden as if she had no purpose.
Her mind was not calm, though. Now more than ever she had to escape. She fretted over her chances and how to improve on them.
She had time. Neither she nor her brothers regularly ate at midday, and the servants wouldn't go looking for work. There was an excellent possibility that she wouldn't be missed until evening. She should be well away by then.
She had no doubt, however, that her brothers would come after her. She was, after all, worth at least five hundred pounds to them from a brothel. In fact, she was worth at least ten thousand because she'd marry even Seale to escape that fate.
Thirty thousand. Her father had sold her for thirty thousand....
That thought, that old betrayal, almost took away her wits, but she concentrated fiercely on the immediate.
Escape.
She wandered into the orchard, then quickened her pace. Realizing she still carried it, she hurled the horrid book into a stand of nettles and clambered over a stile into open fields. It was three miles to the nearest stage post. She could only hope that if she reached there, a passing coach would pick her up. They went by every few hours, she believed, but Serena rather thought one needed a ticket.
She was only too aware of her abysmal ignorance of the world. She had been taken from school at fifteen and immured at Stokeley Manor. From that day on, she had never managed anything for herself, until these past three months when she had tried to bring order to her brother's house.
She had to wonder whether she was equipped to survive alone.
But she had no choice.
Another stile brought her onto the country road. Serena made sure her hood was up over her head, in case anyone passed who might recognized her, and marched resolutely on.
Chapter 2
"Fancy a ride over to Canholme, Middlethorpe?"
Francis, Lord
Serena closed the book on her finger, heart pounding. He'll guess. He'll know what I'm planning. "Matthew didn't care what I did during his absences, and I would welcome losing my looks."
"Don't be so pissing stupid, Serry. If you weren't a raving beauty I'd throw you out to scrub floors. You'd soon find marriage a better deal than that. I reckon old Riverton spoiled you."
He came over and twitched the book out of her hands. "What now? Byron? Keats?" Then he let it fall open and burst out laughing. "Oh, Serry, you are a one! Got a taste for it, did you? Can't see why you're so stiff-rumped about marriage, then."
Serena realized with horror that the book she'd mindlessly plucked from the shelf was one of her brothers' foul erotic tomes. She knew because Tom was waving an illustration in front of her. "Like that, do you?" he asked, eyeing the contorted picture.
Serena couldn't say no and not raise suspicion, but she couldn't force herself to say yes, either.
Her brother looked at her red face and shook his head. "And you can still blush, too. You're a strange one, Serry, and no mistake. But I can see why the men go crazy over you. Miss Prim and Proper with a whore's body and a whore's eyes. And a whore's mind, I see. That's your role in life, you know. Whore. With your figure, and the way you move, and the look you always have of just emerging from a spicy bed..."
His eyes were defiling her again.
"Perhaps we should widen the bidding," he said thoughtfully. "There's not many want you for a wife, but a mistress, now, that's another matter. As a mistress you could go to the highest in the land—a lord, a duke even. Being barren's a feather in the cap of a Cyprian."
Serena just stood there, letting his words wash over her. She was leaving. None of this would happen to her.
He put the book back in her hand and patted it with a parody of fondness. "Off you go, sister, and study your trade."
Clutching the book, Serena hurried out of the library, her brother's coarse laughter echoing behind her. Once out of doors, she forced herself to walk calmly through the chilly November garden as if she had no purpose.
Her mind was not calm, though. Now more than ever she had to escape. She fretted over her chances and how to improve on them.
She had time. Neither she nor her brothers regularly ate at midday, and the servants wouldn't go looking for work. There was an excellent possibility that she wouldn't be missed until evening. She should be well away by then.
She had no doubt, however, that her brothers would come after her. She was, after all, worth at least five hundred pounds to them from a brothel. In fact, she was worth at least ten thousand because she'd marry even Seale to escape that fate.
Thirty thousand. Her father had sold her for thirty thousand....
That thought, that old betrayal, almost took away her wits, but she concentrated fiercely on the immediate.
Escape.
She wandered into the orchard, then quickened her pace. Realizing she still carried it, she hurled the horrid book into a stand of nettles and clambered over a stile into open fields. It was three miles to the nearest stage post. She could only hope that if she reached there, a passing coach would pick her up. They went by every few hours, she believed, but Serena rather thought one needed a ticket.
She was only too aware of her abysmal ignorance of the world. She had been taken from school at fifteen and immured at Stokeley Manor. From that day on, she had never managed anything for herself, until these past three months when she had tried to bring order to her brother's house.
She had to wonder whether she was equipped to survive alone.
But she had no choice.
Another stile brought her onto the country road. Serena made sure her hood was up over her head, in case anyone passed who might recognized her, and marched resolutely on.
Chapter 2
"Fancy a ride over to Canholme, Middlethorpe?"
Francis, Lord
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