Coral gritted her teeth and pulled with all her might. The boot came off, nearly sending her tumbling on her nose.
"Well done," Wargate drawled. "Now the other."
Coral threw down the boot in disgust and bent again, aware her position was comical, if not downright ungainly. Her breasts hung down, her bottom was presented to him, and he'd once again placed a foot on it. The second boot came off more easily than the first. She straightened and turned, still holding the wretched boot, and tried to regain some of her former aplomb.
"What will you have me do now?"
He raised his eyebrows as if surprised. "Why, nothing. I'm quite comfortable. I'll bid you goodnight, madam."
And then Captain Wargate folded his arms, stretched out his legs, and before her disbelieving eyes did the most insulting thing possible.
He fell asleep.
Chapter 4
Whenever a flesh and blood man heard the Ice Princess's song he was as if transfixed. So desperate was his need to console the woman who sang to him, he forgot his family, his country, his very self, and would turn and journey toward the singing. When at last he reached the Ice Princess on her lonely throne, she would lean far down and kiss him on the mouth. . . .
--from The Ice Princess
Isaac woke in the morning to the sound of the maid clattering at the grate. He yawned and stretched, wincing at a twinge in his neck from having slept in the chair. Aphrodite was gone, her bedcovers thrown back, the endearingly worn green velvet robe tossed at the foot of the bed. He'd hope to break his fast with her, but was unsurprised to be disappointed. The lady was a cat--he'd invaded her inner sanctum and no doubt that made her nervous.
He'd have to wait for nightfall.
"Will ye be wantin' coffee, sir?" the maid asked gruffly.
"Yes, thank you," Isaac replied pleasantly.
The woman's suspicious expression eased fractionally at his tone. "I can bring you some hot water, too, if you'd like."
He nodded. "You're not used to men staying the night?"
"I'm not used to them staying at all." The maid snorted. "Herself doesn't bring men to her rooms."
His jaw tightened. "She entertains them elsewhere in the Grotto?"
The maid shot him an unreadable look. "I'll be getting that coffee and water, sir." She slipped from the room.
Isaac rose, finding and using the chamber pot. The maid was protective of her mistress' secrets, which said something about how the servants viewed Aphrodite. The worth of a naval captain could always be told by how his sailors spoke of him. When the maid returned with his breakfast. He ate, shaved, and donned his hat and cloak before leaving the Grotto. He had important business to see to if he wanted to play with Aphrodite tonight.
Nearly ten hours later Isaac tramped back up the street to Aphrodite's Grotto. He could've hired a chair to bear him, but after months at sea he welcomed the chance to stretch his legs.
Even if it was in the most notorious part of London.
The big man Aphrodite had identified as Billy stood by the doors to the Grotto tonight. He eyed the small satchel Isaac carried, but merely nodded. "She's awaitin' you in 'er rooms."
Isaac gave the man a coin and entered the entrance hall. His heart beat like an ensign boarding his first ship. Hold hard, son, she's a whore, he reminded his surging libido. She might not entertain gentlemen in her rooms, but she certainly entertained them somewhere in the Grotto. She was the brothel's madam, after all.
Yet oddly the thought did not lower his anticipation. Whore or not, he was looking forward to seeing Aphrodite tonight. He ran up the grand staircase and strode down the long corridor, past giggling girls and men with stupid lust in their eyes--pray he did not wear the same expression. No one gainsaid him when he turned down the smaller corridor and entered the hidden passage, remembering to duck his head. He paused outside the door at the end and then knocked.
There was a moment of suspense when he wondered if she would insist on meeting him elsewhere, away from her rooms.
Then she opened the door.
Aphrodite wore a dress that was almost simple tonight, green, with a bodice that was very low, although it did cover her nipples. He didn't know whether to be grateful or mourn the loss of their distraction. The cold golden mask was firmly in place. Isaac realized oddly that he knew her—knew the grace of her slim arms, the delicate hollow at the base of her neck, the challenging way she tilted her head when she caught sight of him—knew all this, yet had no idea what her face looked like.
It irked him, like a pebble caught in his shoe, that knowledge that she refused to reveal that most basic part of herself to him.
"Do you intend to enter, Captain Wargate?" she asked, her tone acid.
He grinned and bowed. "I have every intention of entering your secret room, ma'am."
That surprised a short laugh from her. "Touché, Captain. Please come in."
He passed her, conscious that she stepped back so he wouldn't brush her person as he moved. "Call me Isaac."
"What a very Biblical name."
"What's yours, then?" He turned to look at her. "Your real name, not the one they call you here."
She hesitated and for a second he thought she might tell him, but she shook her head. "Would you like some wine?"
"Aye." He set his satchel on the square table before the fire. A man must be patient with a cat. She'd only drew near when he wasn't looking.
He heard the clink of the glass behind him as he opened the satchel and brought out the board. The pieces were in a soft leather pouch and he laid them out on the black and red squares.
"What is that?" She was closer than he'd realized.
He hid a smile. "What does it look like?"
She moved around him to set a glass of wine on the table. "A draughts board." She frowned down suspiciously at the game. "What did you bring it for?"
"I thought we'd play." He sat at one side of the table and picked up the wine glass, watching her.
"But . . ." She glanced about the room. "You came here to—"
"Play a game with you," he said softly. "That is if you wish to."
She debated that a moment and he'd have given all the winnings from last night to have seen beneath the flat golden mask. Then she lowered herself to the chair opposite his, her back as straight and rigid as if she were about to take tea with the king.