of old doorknobs.
“I’m looking for Mr Alexander Pope,” he politely explained to the manservant, who looked like a former prizefighter, complete with crooked nose and cauliflower ear.
“Wait ’ere,” the man mumbled, indicating the round divan.
“I’d rather not,” Julian said quickly, eyeing the divan with suspicion. “Wait here, that is. Is there a room—an empty room, I mean—where I might wait?”
The servant opened the door beside the staircase then trudged up the stairs. The room revealed was as garishly furnished as the hall, albeit in shades of purple rather than pink and scarlet. A cloying perfume hung in the air, mixed noxiously with smoke and stale tobacco. Painted satyrs leered from the walls while nymphs writhed in what appeared to be pain but was probably meant to be ecstasy.
On the positive side, the curtains were open, admitting bright, cleansing sunshine through reasonably clean windows. As Julian entered the room, he noticed a well-fed fluffy white puppy stretched out on the rug. She lifted her head briefly and silently, looking at him with curious, almond-shaped black eyes before returning to the glove upon which she was cutting her teeth.
Completely disarmed, Julian dropped his hat on a table and knelt down beside her on the rug. He had grown up with mastiffs, but he was not disdainful of lapdogs. She looked well cared for, he was pleased to see, and there was a big bow around her neck. One side of the ribbon was deep purple, while the other side was striped lavender and white.
“What’s that you have there, miss?” he scolded her gently. A minor struggle ensued, but, in the end, Julian came away with a woman’s kid glove, dyed lavender. The puppy had chewed off all the buttons, and she was not at all apologetic.
“There you are, you naughty thing!” a girl’s voice scolded from the doorway.
Jumping to his feet, Julian turned to feast his eyes on at a tall, dark-eyed young beauty. Her skin had almost an olive cast to it, which gave her an exotic look, but her English was perfectly refined. She wore her jet-black hair in a braided crown that allowed not even the tiniest ringlet to escape, but the severity of the style suited her. He liked her arrogant little nose and her stubborn little chin. Her red lips also interested him. While knowing nothing of ladies’ fashions, he very much approved of the way her purple and white striped gown fitted her full breasts and slender waist before flaring over what promised to be slim, athletic haunches. Everything about her tempted him, and yet she did not look at all like a prostitute. Quite the opposite, in fact. She looked as if she had been kept all her life in a locked glass case, clearly marked: FOR DISPLAY ONLY. She was quite as unexpected as the puppy, and, again, Julian was completely disarmed.
“I protest,” he said, smiling at her. “I am not a naughty thing. Well, not very naughty.”
“Come, Bijou!” she said to the puppy; she couldn’t even be bothered to frown at Julian.
In response, the little dog wagged her tail politely and tilted her head to one side.
“I don’t think she knows how to come yet,” Julian said cheekily. “I don’t think she knows her name, either.”
Still ignoring him, the beauty went to the dog and picked her up. With her arrogant little nose in the air, she headed for the door, her skirts hissing at Julian as she went by.
Julian was irritated. A very superior girl she might be, but she was still a girl in a brothel, and, even if he was not rich enough to afford her favors, he was not dirt under her feet. “Don’t you walk away from me, girl,” he said sharply. “I’m talking to you.”
She turned to look at him incredulously, and he got between her and the door.
“That’s better,” he said, pleased to have her attention. For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to strike him, but then she decided to proceed as if he wasn’t there. She walked straight at him, expecting him to stand aside. When he did not, she was obliged to stop inches from him. In her high-heeled slippers, she was tall enough to look him in the eye as they stood nose to nose. At this proximity, he could tell that, incredible as it seemed, neither her soft, olive skin nor her red lips bore any trace of cosmetic enhancement. Her eyes, which looked black from a distance, were actually a very dark blue. Every instinct he possessed told him that she was much too good for her surroundings, and his curiosity and desire were aroused equally.
“Now, then,” he said softly as she glared at him. “Let us begin again.”
“Sir!” she said, frowning severely. “I took you for a gentleman. Was I mistaken?”
“I apologize,” Julian said instantly, standing aside to allow her to pass. “I did not realize you had mistaken me for a gentleman,” he went on as she opened the door to walk out. “You seemed to have mistaken me for a speck of dirt, unworthy of even the most commonplace civility!”
It was her turn to flinch. “I do not mean to be uncivil,” she said, her color rising. “I daresay, you must think me very rude—”
“I do, miss! I only wanted to return this to you,” he said, producing the lavender glove he had rescued from the puppy. “It is yours, I believe?”
The trap was sprung. She could not avoid conversing with him now.
“Yes,” she admitted, reaching for the glove. “It is mine.”
He would not let her have it. “You must kiss me first,” he said huskily.
She frowned, not exactly the response he was hoping for. “You must excuse me, sir,” she said haughtily.
Julian stopped smiling. “Why must I excuse you?”
“Because, sir, I am new to London. I am not accustomed to London manners!”
He smiled slowly. “Are manners so different in your own part of the country?”
“Indeed they are, sir,” she answered. “In Yorkshire, people do not go on in this ramshackle way. I would never be prevailed upon to speak to a young man without a formal introduction. And, in Yorkshire, a gentleman does not prevent a lady from leaving a room. Nor does he demand kisses. Such behavior is inexcusable.”
Julian stared at her, astonished. Lady? Either she was in the wrong place, or he was. “I must be in the wrong house,” he said, mortified. “I beg your pardon, Miss…er…Miss…?”
“I certainly have no intention of introducing myself!” she informed him.
“Of course not,” he murmured. “I’m very sorry to have offended you. Is this Mrs Dean’s…er…establishment?”
“It is, sir,” she admitted, petting the dog in her arms to cover her embarrassment. “But I have nothing to do with the running of this house, and I have less than nothing to say to the lodgers! Am I obliged, in London, to talk to a man just because he happens to be standing in a room when I walk in?” she demanded, her color rising. “To kiss him, just because he has taken my glove?”
“Certainly not,” he answered. “I have apologized. What more can I do?”
“Well, at least you do not wink at me,” she said, somewhat mollified. “That insolence I cannot bear. I have begun to call it the London squint! The lodgers all have it.”
Julian
