The Heiress In His Bed. Tamara Lejeune

guards her virginity! I’ll go to Sussex, but I’ll be damned if I let him choose me a wife. There’s only one girl I ever wanted to marry, and she’s dead now.”

      The revelation caught Julian by surprise, and made him feel excessively awkward, as if he had accidentally overheard something intensely private. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

      “She married someone else,” Alex went on, to his brother’s acute dismay. “She died in childbirth. If she were not dead, I think I would hate her. She was such a plain little thing, too,” Alex said, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. “I still remember how she felt in my arms when we danced together.”

      “All the same,” said Julian. “Life goes on.”

      Alex glared at him. “How can you be so callous? Life goes on? No, it doesn’t.”

      “Obviously, it does,” Julian said dryly. “Would you be here if it didn’t?”

      “You think I come here to feel alive?” Alex demanded indignantly. “Do you think I enjoy passing out every night in the arms of a strange woman who doesn’t give a tinker’s damn for me?”

      “You could do that with Molly Peacock,” Julian said. “At considerably less expense.”

      “That’s right,” Alex said grimly. “Make your jokes. You’ve never been in love.”

      “No,” Julian agreed cheerfully, “but I can’t wait. You make it sound so pleasant.”

      Alex went into the closet to wash, leaving the door ajar.

      Julian was looking out of the window, watching as a man exited the house. With his collar turned up and his hat low over his eyes, he scurried into Oxford Street to be swallowed up by the traffic.

      “Sorry about all that,” Alex said presently. “I didn’t mean to be so maudlin. I hope I didn’t embarrass you?”

      “It’s quite all right,” Julian assured him. “I wasn’t listening anyway.”

      “Good.” Alex sounded relieved. Half-dressed now, he began to shave.

      “Alex,” Julian said thoughtfully, still observing the street, “this is a brothel, isn’t it?”

      Alex laughed shortly. “If it isn’t, I want my money back,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

      “I met a girl downstairs who seems to think this is some sort of boarding house,” Julian replied. “A very pretty, genteel sort of girl, nothing like what you’d expect to find in a place like this. She seemed like a carefully brought up young lady,” he added. “She refused to talk to me because we hadn’t been introduced. Just like the girls back home.”

      “Ah, yes,” Alex said, yawning. “The tragic little niece from Yorkshire. I’ve heard all about her. Supposedly, her father was a vicar. He left his daughter on the aunt’s hands, penniless. To recoup her losses, Mrs Dean is auctioning her off on Friday. She tried to sell me a ticket, but I’m afraid primitive country virgins are not at all to my taste. I hear she’s pretty, though. She should fetch a pretty price.”

      “I don’t think I understand you,” Julian said indignantly. “What do you mean Mrs Dean is auctioning her off?”

      Alex looked at him in surprise. “You’re shocked,” he said. “I do believe you’re blushing. My dear boy, the girl has no money, no connections. Her aunt’s in debt. What else are they to do with her? This is a brothel, after all.”

      “It’s barbaric,” said Julian. “Not to mention immoral and illegal.”

      Alex shrugged. “That’s London for you.”

      “Alex, this girl thinks she’s in a boarding house.”

      “Then she’s either a fool or a liar,” Alex said heartlessly. “Chances are, your genteel, pretty girl knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s just reeling you in with her innocent eyes.”

      “Then she should be treading the boards,” said Julian. “She’s a remarkable actress.”

      “I wouldn’t worry about her too much,” Alex said dryly. “If she plays her cards right, she’ll be the mistress of a very rich man who will dote on her and buy her anything she wants.”

      “But for God’s sake,” said Julian. “She’s a clergyman’s daughter.”

      Alex snorted. “That’s the story, anyway. Who knows if it’s true? I don’t want to disillusion you, Julian, but, occasionally one finds that lies are told in brothels. Your genteel, pretty girl mightn’t even be a virgin.”

      “And what if she is innocent?” Julian demanded. “We have to help her.”

      Alex wiped his now clean-shaven face with a towel. “We?”

      “This girl you were in love with,” Julian said impatiently. “What if she were in trouble? Wouldn’t you want someone to help her?”

      Alex’s face darkened with anger. “Obviously, a lady would never be in such a situation,” he snapped. “Never think with your privates, brother, or didn’t they teach you that in the army?”

      “I’m concerned about her welfare,” Julian said stiffly. “It has nothing to do with my privates.”

      “You’re too poor to be concerned about her welfare,” Alex retorted, “and it has everything to do with your privates. Would you be quite so concerned about her welfare if she weren’t quite so pretty?”

      “You’re a cynic,” Julian accused him.

      Alex laughed grimly. “So will you be in ten years.”

      “Perhaps,” said Julian, “but I hope the idea of young women being bought and sold like chattel will always be disgusting to me. I’m going to help her, even if you won’t.”

      “Don’t be a bloody fool,” said Alex, but he was talking to himself; Julian had already left the room.

      “I wish to speak to Mrs Dean at once,” Julian told the manservant downstairs.

      Alex joined him in the hall a few minutes later. Never as handsome as his brother, and pockmarked from a childhood illness, he at least looked respectable now: clean-shaven and wearing a tailored coat of blue superfine. “Would you call me a hack?” he asked Julian.

      “You are a hack,” Julian said obligingly.

      “Ha, ha. My legs are still a bit wobbly, and my purse seems to be empty,” Alex said. “It has been suggested to me that I drink too much. Please summon a hack for me.”

      “The hack is waiting outside,” Julian said. “It’s only half a mile to our mother’s house, but I didn’t think you’d care to walk in your condition.”

      “Thank you,” Alex said ruefully.

      Glancing up, Julian saw a middle-aged woman coming down the stairs, presumably Mrs Dean herself. Alex saw Mrs Dean at about the same time. “Look here, Julian,” he said quietly. “Don’t get yourself mixed up in this dirty business. Even if the girl is innocent—which I rather doubt—you have no money. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

      Mrs Dean reached them, and Alex was obliged to hold his tongue. “Do come again, Mr Pope,” she said warmly to Alex. “The girls are so fond of you.”

      Julian shook his brother’s hand. “Will you keep me informed? I am still in Lombard Street. If my father wants me, of course I’ll come,” he offered.

      Alex promised to send word. Giving his brother one last warning look, he then departed, leaving Julian alone with the mistress of the house.

      Mrs Dean bore no resemblance to her lovely niece; indeed, Julian could scarcely credit the notion that the two were related. Her yellow satin gown fitted her too tightly in the bosom, so that unsightly mounds of freckled flesh