Before Thomas could respond, Agatha stumbled slightly, her balance faltering. Without a second thought, he swept her into his arms. She snuggled against his chest, sighing contentedly.
“You smell wonderful,” she murmured, her words slurring slightly. “And your body is so strong and comforting.”
Thomas grunted, saying nothing, but the feel of her lush curves pressed against him stirred something tender he wasn’t ready to examine. He carried her through the hallway, climbing the stairs to the fourth floor toward her bedchamber, her weight light in his arms. She nuzzled against his throat, her breath teasing his skin.
Once inside the room, he lowered her gently onto the bed. Agatha propped her hands under her chin, watching him with a sensuous smile.
“You are terribly handsome.”
Thomas kept his expression neutral. “Is that so?”
She reached up and lightly traced the scar that ran down his cheek.
“This makes you look like a marauding pirate,” she said huskily. “Or how I imagined one to appear.”
He stared at her, unsure how to respond to such a comment.
Agatha’s expression shifted to a frown. “I don’t understand,” she said softly. “Why did Papa get more bitter and angry when he drank? It makes me feel warm andhappy... I could even remove my clothes now without fainting!”
To prove her point, she pushed herself onto her knees and fumbled with her shift, but before she could get anywhere, she tumbled unceremoniously onto the mattress, laughing.
Thomas sighed, his irritation giving way to reluctant amusement. He tugged the blankets over her, tucking her in as she continued to laugh.
“Sleep,” he muttered.
Almost immediately, Agatha’s laughter quieted, and within moments, she drifted into a deep sleep, her breathing soft and steady. Thomas stood at her bedside, watching her for a long moment. Despite himself, a smile tugged at his lips. Shaking his head, he turned and left her room to find the madam.
CHAPTER 10
The morning light filtered through the thin drapes, casting a warm glow across the room. Agatha woke with a start, gasping as memories of the previous night flooded back to her in vivid detail. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the images away, but they came anyway—the laughter, the champagne, and the moment she saw Bea emerge from one of the private rooms. She was striking, with dark auburn hair fashionably cut into soft curls that fell just below her chin. Her skin had a radiant golden hue, and her bright gray eyes sparkled with life.
Bea’s gentleman was also dashing and handsome. She had introduced him as Mr. Brandon Armstrong. His expression had been one of unmistakable satisfaction, and Bea’s cheeks had reddened under his regard, and his murmured promise that he would call upon her tomorrow night.
Agatha had blurted out without thinking, “I am so happy I’m not the only one who blushes!”
Bea had laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and invited Agatha to her chamber on the second floor. There, they had sat together, chatting, sipping champagne as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Agatha remembered how thebubbles had made her feel light and giddy, her usual restraint slipping away with each sip.
At some point during their conversation, she had found the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at her since she stepped foot in the pleasure palace. Gloria’s reply had been too vague, and she wanted the knowledge from another woman.
“What was the first time like for you? Was it here at Aphrodite?”
Bea had hesitated, her expression thoughtful as she swirled the champagne in her glass. “It was a few years ago. I fancied myself in love with a barristerandthought he would marry me. The entire affair pleasant enough,” she’d said after a moment, but then she glanced away, her voice softening. “But truth be told, I hardly remember anyone before Brandon Armstrong.”
Something in her tone had made Agatha pause. Bea’s voice had softened with tender affection, and at that moment, Agatha realized Bea loved Mr. Armstrong. The way her cheeks flushed when she spoke his name, and her eyes darted away as if she were ashamed of the admission ...
“Are you in love with him?”
“I love him something fiercely, but he cannot love me even if he wants to.”
Agatha’s heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She felt for Bea, the yearning and loneliness wrapped in those few words.
Then Bea’s mood had shifted, her expression turning serious, almost sad. “You must always guard your heart, Agatha,” she’d warned. “When you give your body and pleasure to a man, it is as if he steals a part of you,especially a man who cares about your enjoyment and comfort.It’s easy to fall in love with a man who treats you well, but the men who visit the pleasure palace will never marry a woman from this place.”
The forlorn tone in Bea’s voice had pierced through Agatha’s drunken haze, planting a seed of caution in her mind. For amoment, the thought of falling in love—of giving herself over to something so consuming—had seemed impossible, something that could never touch her. But as she stared at Bea, at the sadness in her eyes, she realized it could happen to anyone.
Agatha’s heart ached for her, for the pain of longing she clearly endured. Agatha had known then that despite the laughter and enjoyment each lady she met showed, despite the gilded rooms and the beautiful gowns, there was a heaviness here—a weight that each woman carried in her own way.
“I will never allow myself to be so foolish as to fall in love.”Either with her tutor or the gentleman who wins her at the auction.
