Virgin Escapade by Louisa Trent

Author:Louisa Trent [Trent, Louisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical romance, erotic Romance, explicit sex romance
Publisher: Trent Publishing
Published: 2017-11-22T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I started to laugh, then chortle, then guffaw with pure glee. Or malice, I knew not which. Nothing held back, I laughed like I had never laughed before in my life. Perhaps, my letting go was a safety valve against the terrible strain I had been under of late, a release in the here and now so I would not explode later down the line.

Holding the stitch in my side, I gasped, “That cannot possibly be your real name.”

“Real enough for you to cash the sizeable check I donated in that precise name before leaving the soiree that night.”

“Oh. I never handle donations. Ill-gotten gains, were they? If you own brothels,” I said severely, “I shall have to refuse the sum on principle…”

“No brothels. Honestly earned money. I have gone semi-legit. I plan to be out completely soon, street cons included. See, there was this girl…”

“From my understanding, there usually is, sir.”

He rubbed the cords at the back of his neck.

They must be tight, I thought. Did I make him tense?

“Listen,” he said, his vocal cords losing their mellow resonance. “I treated the girl shabbily. Used her. Not sexually. But I knew she had a tendre for me and I manipulated those soft feelings of hers to my own business ends. I deeply regretted my actions afterwards.”

“You are talking about Daisy Crumbly, of course.”

“Yes. Daisy.”

He sighed. “I have all the money I will ever need and lacking the belly for anymore cons, I took in no new apprentices, dismissed the ones already in my employ, tried to quietly do some good deeds in recompense for my past. Not until William tried to pick my pocket did I take on any new trainees. But what could I do? The little shit was half-starved. I could not very well turn my back on him. If I did that, guaranteed, the police would have picked him up. That was how clumsy he was at stealing. Still is.

“As to my name, the one you find so damn funny – I had no identification when I arrived at the foundling home, and so I was assigned one along with eight other lads, all of us sharing the same one: John Smith. I legally changed mine as soon as I could. I wanted something that would belong to me alone. I figured that one would.”

I understood his reasoning, but goodness, Malcolm Ignatius! What a grandiose name he had chosen for himself! He must have felt the need to dignify himself even back then. Who could blame him? A generic name, not even belonging solely to him! How could he help but feel less than everyone else?

With his admission, he won my respect. As a youth, he had not indulged in self-pity. Rather he had fought back against circumstances beyond his control.

“Desiree,” I said. “Desiree Malone.” What were my parents thinking bestowing that name on a baby?

He thumbed his jaw. “It suits you. The other evening, you deserved something with an erotic twist. At least you did from where I was standing.

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