9781618858467ASinfulEducationPimentel Read Online Free PDF

keep
an eye on him. The man clearly needed a release in the worst sort of way. Well,
so do I, but every time I close my bloody peepers, all I can see is Emily.
    The
earl reached into his pocket and handed the lost child his compensation. “Now,
run along home. There is no need for you to be out here for the rest of the
week with that sum.”
    Beneath
scraggly hair kept untidily under a dingy cap, dark eyes peered back at him. “You
are mistaken, sir. My mum needs more than this to keep out of debtor’s prison.
But if you ever need anything else, this ’ ould be my
corner.”
    “Pray
tell, what is your name, child?”
    “ M’name is Percy.”
    “After
your father, no doubt?”
    The
child snorted. “ M’father ran off with a whore in
Whitechapel, and his name sure as hell ain’t Percy.
He took off before I was born.”
    Avonlea
surmised this was a common story from the slums of London. A tragedy really. Children
were the future of this country, and sadly, this one would be lucky if he made
it to twenty. “Either way, lad, stay out of trouble. Understood?”
    “Yes,
sir!”
    He treaded
through the gaslit , cobblestone
street until he happened upon the tallest house in the lane. He
approached the door when a lone, burly guard, who wore the stench of piss and
ale, blocked his entry.
    “There
be a fee for late entry into this evening’s festivities, guvnor.”
    “And
what would that be, sir?”
    “A
guinea for entry and another for my silence.”
    He
pondered a moment what the gent meant. If the oaf thought Charles was shackled
by marriage, then he was sadly mistaken. The day he took a wife was the day he
ensured the woman could handle him in every single way. “I will give you the
guinea for entry, sir, but nothing more.”
    The
idiot grunted and held out his grimy hand while Avonlea dropped the note,
pushing him out of the way to enter the establishment. For a bawdy house,
Martine had gone out of her way to make the surroundings more like home. Men
were seated in lavish chairs, decorated in the finest fabric, while some of the
girls sat on their laps in nothing more than a silk robe, loosening their
cravats.
    There
was a time in his life where the sight of women dressed as such would have
excited him, but the mere spectacle of them made him flaccid as the day he was
born. He only wanted one woman, and she happened to be the redheaded miss that
would land him in a heap of trouble, and irritate his mother so.
    A
serving girl handed him a tankard, and another, the one topless, led him into a
parlor already buzzing with activity.
    “My
dear, while I am thankful for the drink, that is not
why I am here. Where is your mistress? I wish to speak with her.”
    She
blushed and stared at him blankly. “She is with a client, sir.”
    “Then
interrupt her, please. I have need to speak with her.”
    The
wench bowed and looked displeased at his words. “If you would not mind waiting
here then. I doubt the parlor would suit the mood you are in.”
    A
few minutes later, the girl returned with a very annoyed and disheveled Madame
Martine. Her corset had been done up roughly, so that even more of her generous
cleavage stuck out, and her flaxen hair was mussed. Apparently, whatever client
she was entertaining at that moment was not in the mood either. “You requested
my presence, my lord?”
    Her
hands wandered aimlessly down his chest and straight toward the band of his
pants. “Leave it be, Martine. I came here for Wycliffe. Now, where is he?”
    “Surely,
you do not mean the useless and drunken clod I just left?”
    “Considering
he left White’s in that condition, then I imagine we speak of the same gent.”
    “Ugh.
Take him out of here. I no longer want him to visit this establishment.”
    “And
why is that?”
    She
scowled and made an unladylike gesture of disgust. “That man is not right in
the head. Have you any idea what he likes to do? None of my girls take any
interest in being abused in such a