The Wicked House of Rohan Read Free Page A

in a bored voice. “Take your prize and go away. I’m in need of a nap if I’m going to be up for a certifiable orgy tonight.”
    â€œTonight?” the woman whispered.
    He glanced down at her. “Tonight. Don’t worry, Miss Strong. The sooner it’s done the sooner it’s over, and you can be on your way back to England and forget this ever happened.”
    She said nothing, and he turned his back on her, washing his hands of the whole tedious situation. He’d done his best for the wretched creature, God knew why, when he himself had the irrational urge to bed her. An hour ago, after a vigorous night, he thought he’d never want sex again.
    But he did. With her. And he didn’t want anyone else to have her, which was ridiculous. He’d always shared his lovers. The whole situation made no sense.
    â€œYou can see yourselves out,” he said. And he walked away from them, closing the door behind him.
    Â 
    Kathleen heard them talking. He was gone, and her last bit of strength left her.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Rohan?” one man said. “He hasn’t changed his mind about all this, has he? It isn’t like him.”
    â€œOf course not,” another man said. “He’s been setting a prodigious example for all of us in his drinking and wenching. I imagine he’s worn out. I’m just demmed sorry he’s not going to have the virgin—I would have liked to observe his technique. I’m betting he could have made her climax.”
    â€œI’m certain any of us are capable of doing the deed,” Marblethorpe said. “Come, let’s go to my place and play cards for her. Or shall we use the dice?”
    â€œWhat will we do about her in the meantime?”
    Oh, please God, feed me , she thought wearily.
    â€œLeave her here. We’ll be gathering here tonight anyway and if we take her with us we might misplace her. Alistair won’t touch her, rules and all that.”
    â€œAn excellent idea. I’ll have Marcello keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t bolt.”
    Their voices were fading away, but she was scarcely aware of them. The eventual silence was so blessed she almost wept.
    Alistair Rohan. Why hadn’t she known him immediately? She’d never seen eyes that captivating color on anyone but her brother’s friend.
    She’d been fifteen, he’d been twenty, sent down from Oxford with her brother Jack for some prank involving chickens and the dean’s office, much to her father’s annoyance.
    She’d taken one look at him and fallen madly, desperately in love, as only a fifteen-year-old can love. Of course Rohan had barely noticed Jack’s gawky little sister, though he lightly flirted with her when they’d been thrown together.
    He left, and she’d never seen him again. Jack had served in India and, like so many before him, died there. Mary had died in childbirth, and their parents were already gone. She was alone, and she’d had no qualms about becoming a governess, and proved to be an extremely good one. She’d leapt at the chance to travel to Venice with the Brandon family, and then disaster fell.
    Leaving her destitute, and now a whore, facing her childhood crush. She pushed herself out of the chair and went to survey the littered table, hoping there might be a scrap of food left behind. Apparently the members of the Saving Grace or the Heaven Host or whatever they were calling themselves were only interested in drink, and that one glass of wine had been a very bad idea.
    Death before dishonor. It was a lovely sentiment, but she didn’t want to die. If she had the chance to go back to England then she didn’t fancy a grave as an alternative. They buried the dead on a separate island here—she didn’t want her body dumped on a barge and carried over there with the other paupers.
    An hour or two in exchange for getting out of this country. She had no