Kit Black (2 page)

And so, it seemed, was my dear sister. At least for one night. For a moment, I had quite forgotten the prospect of new boots and a fencing sword. I sighed and then nearly leapt out of my skin as Roger stepped up behind me.

“Who was that?”

I turned, looking into his wrinkled face. His pipe was hanging out of his mouth and his bandana was askew. I knew he was trying really hard not to twist my ear for the missing supplies. Roger didn't punish me too often any more, not since I had grown a few inches taller than him. He was the only father I'd ever known. He had taught me to read and to do sums, and for that, I'd be forever grateful.

“A man I met. A Frenchman.”

“What were you doing talking to the likes of him? He's too damned pretty to survive long around here.”

I sighed. “Do you think he's pretty, Roger? I would call him manly. Quite manly.”

“Good Lord, child. Is he one of those men? Does he like young boys? The French navy's full of those queer types.”

“No.” I bit my lip and told him what I'd done.

Roger just stared at me.

“It's not the same as mom,” I hurried to defend myself. “It'll be this once and never again.”

“You tell yourself that.”

“I need a bath, Roger. I don't think I bathe enough.”

“Well, hell. I've been telling you that for years. The man must be pretty special if you'd take a bath for him, Kit.”

“And a dress. I suppose one of mom's will do. I think she has some older ones that don't fit her any more,” I mused.

Roger grinned. “Don't let Madame Evangeline to get a look at you when you're wearing the dress. She'll put you to work flat on your back in the brothel.”

He was right about that.

“Why are you doing this, Kit?”

I told him about the sword and the boots I'd planned to purchase, but he just laughed at me.

***

My mom was asleep when I went into her room. It was a small room, more like a wardrobe in size. Madame Evangeline had allowed her to stay, as there was nowhere else for us to go. I earned my keep helping Roger and the cook, and took no wages so that she would keep us. My poor mom's body had nearly wasted away from the syphilis. Her dark eyes were sunken in her head, her lips drawn back over her teeth. She'd been a beauty in her day, a spy, she told me, during one of the French wars with Spain. She bragged about a lot of things. Ties to the Russian empire, dalliances with the bloody pope in Rome…but I never knew if I ought to believe her.

I wanted to tell her about Armand, not for advice, but perhaps for reassurance that I was not making a mistake. I was afraid that I would lose more tonight than my maidenhead. Perhaps my heart.

I had lived in a whorehouse long enough to know about sex and what happened. I knew it would hurt me the first time. I knew that it would be quick and that he might grunt and roll off me and fall asleep. I knew it wouldn't be fun for me. It was never fun for the woman. Sometimes I heard the girls talk. They said that a woman usually had to fake her release, so the man on top of her would hurry the hell up and be done with it. Whatever that meant. One of the whores swore that in twenty years she had never had one. At least I knew a little about preventing a pregnancy. I wasn't about to be bearing any babies yet, though I smiled at the thought of a baby as beautiful as the Frenchman was. Having a baby to love seemed a wonderful thing if a woman was ready. Even Anne Bonny had borne a child, but that was after she'd become a pirate. I might have one after I had acquired my own ship, as well.

I had to admit that for a girl raised in a house of ill repute, I didn't know as much as I claimed I did about the act itself. Well, I'd know by tonight what these men came here for in droves. And at least the man who would be on top of me would be clean, good smelling, and as beautiful as one of the saints painted in the church up on the hill.

I found a dress that fit in my mother's wardrobe. It was a bit musty, but it was clean and had no wine stains on the skirt. The neck was low, as my mother's bosom had been larger than mine, but the drawstrings gave it a modicum of modesty. Roger helped me to carry the bath water and left me to my ablutions.

It felt delightfully good. Good enough to make me wish I could bathe in hot water more often. By the time it was over and I dried myself, I was pink as a new-shorn lamb. The water in the wooden tub was black. I looked into Roger's cracked mirror, pleased with the way my hair had dried into wavy locks the exact color of wheat. My skin looked smooth and pale as cream. The only thing wrong with me were my ragged nails, which I tried to pare clean with Roger's knife.

He knocked and came in at my hesitant reply. I was just squeezing my feet into a pair of my mother's slippers, not sure about how to tie the laces around my ankles. The skirt of the dress was about three inches too short, but it would have to do.

Roger just stared at me. “My, God, Kit. Look at you. You're beautiful. I can't believe it.”

I felt myself flush to the roots of my hair. “Am I really pretty, Roger? Am I?”

“Aye, lass. Any man would fall flat on his face just to see you coming down the walk. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I want the boots, Roger. New boots. And I want the sword.” I didn't say that I wanted to see him again. But I did. All the time I was bathing and dressing, I was thinking only about him. About his hair, his eyes, and that beautifully honed, muscular body. I ached to be touched. By him. By those clean, elegant hands. And by that carnal mouth. I knew I ought to feel ashamed of myself, but I did not.

“I'll take you over there.”

“I can go myself.”

“You'll never make it looking like that, Kit. I won't have any arguments. Sneak out the back, so Madame Evangeline won't see you. And put the shawl over your head.”

***

My heart was pounding as I climbed the stairs to his rooms. The landlady stared at me like I was something she dumped out of the slop pot. I wanted to shove her, but I pretended to be a fine lady and held my temper in check.

“No screaming, mind you.” She held her block like fists on her ample hips. Her breath smelled rankly of garlic and wine. “We have paying guests here.”

“I assume he pays his rent on time.”

“Aye,” was her reply.

“Then he can do whatever he wants, you old sot,” I said in a soft hiss. “I'll bet you're wishing you were me.” And with that, I flounced up the stairs like the finest lady she'd likely ever see. Except for the fact that my heels had broken out in blisters that hurt like hell. She huffed off as I tapped on his door, my heart pounding despite my false aura of bravado.

He had just finished his own bath. I gasped when he opened the door. He was dripping wet, his lean hips covered with a linen towel that reached his knees. If he was beautiful in his uniform, he was even more so half-naked and dripping wet. He stole all of the breath from my lungs.

“Isabelle?” he inquired, looking me up and down. “Is it twenty-one bells?”

“You said twenty, sir. At least that's…uhm…what you told Kit. I came on time.”

He smiled and ushered me in. “I'm sorry, I was bathing. I meant to be dressed.”

“It's not a bother, sir. You'll just be taking off your clothes anyway, to my thinking.” I nervously played with the ends of my shawl. There was something about the look he was giving me. I tugged the shawl a little tighter over my breasts, trying not to look at his flat light-colored male nipples. I'd seen many a naked man before, but none as finely built as this one. “I hope I'm not a disappointment, sir.”

“A disappointment?” He gave a soft chuckle. “No, you're not at all. You're more than I expected you to be. You're very tall. I don't think I've ever been with…met a woman as tall as you are.”

My heart plummeted. “Am I too tall?”

“No, not at all. No, Isabelle, you'll do very nicely.”

I was breathing hard now. Just the smell of him. Clean and fresh, like a morning in the woods. I wanted to drink him in. To lick the droplets of water from those wide shoulders, that awesome expanse of smooth chest. He wasn't hairy either, not like some of the men I had seen. Like great monkeys they were.

“Would you like some wine? To relax you?” He indicated a decanter on the table.

“No sir. I don't drink spirits. But I would like the gold first. I want to put it in my slipper, sir.” I felt terrible saying it, but that was what I was there for. I had a feeling my mind was going to get quite foggy.

“Of course.” He gave me a slow, seductive smile. “Three gold pieces, was it?”

“No, sir. Two.”

He nodded, prowling to the dresser and removing two from a bulging purse that lay there. Lord, to have all that gold. Well, one day I would have chests of it. He put them into my hand. I felt the weight of them and sighed. I was not so rude as to bite them to check that they were not bronze.

“Are you in a hurry? For two gold coins I'll expect you to stay the night.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

I hoped he didn't expect me to be the one to start things. I didn't have a clue as to what I ought to do. I guessed it would be kissing. That was how it started with most of the doxies in the brothel. A round of slap and tickle. I had seen the doxies take the men's tongues into their mouths and had always thought it abhorrent. The idea made me want to wretch, but this man… Perhaps having his tongue in my mouth would be good. Maybe even delicious. I jumped a little as I felt him come up behind me, wondering if he knew what I'd been thinking.

His fingers were at my shoulders. “Can I take your shawl? It's warm in here, but I could still have a fire lit.”

“No, sir. I'm fine.” I released the knitted shawl.

He looked down at my breasts, and I suddenly wished I'd worn stays. My waist would have looked better, I think. He smiled at me.

“Am I pretty enough, sir?” I was getting worried. He hadn't said a word, just looked at me with those half closed, heavily lashed eyes.

“You're perfect,” he said. “An angel. But then, I knew you would be.”

With a heavy swallow, I said, “Thank you, sir. You know, I have to tell you that I don't really know what to do. Where to start...”

In a way it was true, but in a way I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to follow my heart, my instincts, but I did not know if they were accurate. I wanted to touch his chest and see if it were as hard and smooth and damp as I imagined. I took a deep breath and lifted my hand, laying it on the heavy curve of muscle just above his heart. I could imagine I felt the heavy pound of his blood beneath my fingers. I let my fingers trail down the indentation of his sternum, toward his navel, just to the edge of the towel. His body felt hot and hard and velvety. I could see the outline of his manhood thrust beneath the damp toweling. That made me smile. Made me want to giggle. Then I felt the panic rise.

He took a deep breath and grasped my hand, lifting it to his lips. He kissed the backs of my fingers. The gesture surprised me. “I think you know exactly what to do. You can start by calling me Armand. You don't have to worry, we have all the time in the world. The whole night.”

I nodded. Suddenly, one night didn't seem like enough time anymore.

“I think we'll start with a kiss. Shall we?”

“If that's what you'd like, sir…Armand.”

“Yes, I'd like that very much.” He stared into my eyes, and I was amazed by the color of them, so pretty surrounded by that thicket of lashes.

I ran my tongue along the edge of my lips to moisten them. I had that odd feeling again…that strange tug from breast to thigh, the inexplicable sense of tightening, of wanting to burst out of my skin as if it didn't fit me any longer.

He pulled me toward him, and I gasped as the blisters on my feet brought me back into myself.

“Are you alright? Am I going too fast?”

“It's my feet, they hurt. These shoes are too small. May I take them off?”

He smiled and led me to the bed. I bent to remove the shoes, but he stilled my hands. He dropped to one knee and began to untie the laces. It was shockingly intimate, having his warm, long fingered hand wrapped around my ankle.

“This must hurt you,” he said, touching the spot where my half boot had rubbed at my ankle.

“I got used to it. All my shoes are too small, sir. Mostly I try to go bare foot, but last year I stepped on a nail and it got putrid. I was lucky I didn't lose my…” I stopped short. “I'm sorry.”

He nodded, as if he could not imagine being so poor. And I was not half so poor as most. I didn't want to see the glaze of pity in those handsome eyes. Desire was something far more easy to accept.

“After today, I can buy proper boots.”

He winced. And then, he came up on his knees so that he was kneeling between my legs. We were face to face. He took my face in his hands, and I could feel his long fingers at my ears, his thumbs near my throat. He drew my face close to his and he kissed me. It was a dulcet kiss. A drugging, gentle kiss that stirred my very soul. I could smell his hair and his skin. It smelled of fine milled soap and lemons, and his mouth was delicious. Hot, spicy, sweet like the candied ginger that Roger had once brought me as a present. I waited for his tongue to invade my mouth. I prayed for it to happen with my eyes closed.

“Are you sure about this, Kita?” he whispered against my lips.

“Yes, oh, yes. I'm sure.”

“You feel so good, but I want you to want this, too. I want you to want me, too. As I do you.” His tone was husky, sensual, but there was an underlying note that I didn't want to dwell on. Had he called me, Kita? If he had, I didn't care. I suppose I hadn't fooled him with my disguise. He'd seen through it. He could probably see that I was half in love with him already. Something that he was used to having happen, I'm sure.

“I do. I can't think of anyone I'd rather be with than you.” I smiled at him and touched his smooth shaven cheek.