Rebecca Wentworth's Distraction Read Online Free PDF Page B

He puffed his pipe. “But you’ll need plenty of specie to bustle in her corner.”
    Sanborn glanced back at the woman, who was now moving to another man of her acquaintance, a rough-looking tar who, cleaned up, would probably have been handsome. “No, she has not the appearance of one who would disappoint.”
    It was still early, and no one was prepared, apparently, to enlist her services. Moreover, the room was continuing to empty out. One might wonder why she had chosen this time to ply her trade, if that was what she was doing. Before long, she took a seat and was soon attended by the serving woman.
    â€œI’ll be missed back at customs,” Weeks said. Finishing his flip, banging his mug down on the tabletop, he extended his hand and excused himself. He gave his head a slight nod toward Gingher and winked at Sanborn, but he said nothing more about her. Sanborn stood up and said good-bye to his new acquaintance. Since Weeks had told him he often came here for his refreshment, Sanborn knew where he would find him again, if he wished to. He sat down to finish his flip after his companion left. He took out a notebook he carried with him and began to sketch a few ideas of how he might present Madam Browne upon a canvas. She was a prepossessing woman, to be sure. Should a commission for her ever come his way, he would have to be very careful about her intriguing face. Faces required more attention, perhaps, than he had given in his usual trade. Perhaps that was one thing Rebecca’s self-portrait was telling him. It was more than simply a proper modeling technique, it was a matter of character, revealing the sitter’s character. He was full of youthful confidence in his own capability. He sketched some thoughts about her face from different angles. When the serving woman passed by again, he shook his head to refuse a refill. He found in his sketching the pleasure of solving a problem or a puzzle.
    â€œSeat no longer taken, sir?”
    He looked up in confusion, like a man coming out of a daydream or a light sleep. It was Gingher herself. He was speechless for a moment, coming back into the world from the reveries of his craft.
    â€œIt is no longer taken, but I was just preparing to leave,” he managed to say. He looked at his sketch.
    â€œWhat be ye drawing?” she asked, ignoring his lie.
    â€œFaces. Just faces.”
    â€œA limner then?”
    â€œIf you wish.” Why was he indulging her?
    â€œClever sod.”
    He looked up again. “Clever enough,” he said. He began to put his sketch things away, noticing as he did that there were only two patrons left, besides himself and Gingher. She stood there watching him as if he amused her. She was wearing some strong sweet scent that was rather overwhelming. He thought that perhaps such was her trademark. Her fan lightly tapped his cheek. He stood up and began to leave the table.
    â€œGood day, then,” he said, for some reason not wishing to be rude. The two other patrons in the tavern were paying them no attention.
    â€œI’m just up the way, there. Out the door, turn right, and right again at the first lane uphill. Third building, one flight up.”
    He turned to look at her, a bit astonished because he thought he had successfully brushed her off. It was not that she didn’t interest him, and he was no hypocrite about his need for women, even a woman such as Gingher. His mind and aspirations simply were, had been, elsewhere. But she had his attention now. He looked about them again. They might have been alone for all anyone cared. She smiled at him. Surprisingly good teeth, gray-green eyes. Luscious breasts. She did not have the exteriors of a bawd given to drink. In proper dress she might have passed at a distance for a lady. She was a remarkable temptress. Gingher. He began to leave again.
    She let him walk through the door where, once on the street in the afternoon sunlight, he felt dazed, and