Miss Delia Somerset looked nervous. She’d told him she had never actually been paid for her services before.
But that she had performed them.
He stared at her mouth, noticing that her teeth chattered silently. She had two lovely pink spots on her cheeks, and her coffee-colored eyes had stayed focused on the bed since the moment she’d stepped inside.
Unexpected pity thickened his throat, but only for a moment.
She was lucky to have him as her first client. He would make it easier for her—woo her, build up her confidence. And perhaps teach her a few things.
Jack moved toward the door. “Wash up and change.” He’d take an ale or two in the taproom with Cyril. “I’ll join you for dinner in one hour.”
“Thank you.” Her smile was weak. And just when he wondered if she might be rethinking her chosen profession, she added, “I look forward to that.”
Excellent.
An hour later, considerably warmer from a few pints of strong ale, but eager for a hot meal followed by a satisfying romp, Jack climbed the stairs with an unfamiliar sense of anticipation—which he quickly tamped down. Better all-around to keep his expectations low.
Arriving at the familiar suite, Jack went to enter and then, thinking better of it, rapped on the door instead.
“Who is it?” her voice called out. So clever of her to feign such innocence.
“Jack.”
“Oh.” He heard shuffling on the other side. When the door swung open, Jack froze.
His destitute little lamb splayed her hand over the delicious amount of bosom revealed by the borrowed gown. In doing so, she effectively drew his attention there.
Jack’s breath caught.
The mulberry velvet decolletage dipped low, barely covering her. It clung to her ribcage and waist where it flared out from generous hips. Retrieving her off the side of the road may have been one of his better decisions after all.
“Dinner arrived a few minutes ago.” She gestured to a small table set up across the room.
Seeing no need for formality, Jack tossed his coat over a chair and after removing his jacket, draped it over the chair as well. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he couldn’t help but notice the pink flush creeping across her chest and up her neck. Delightful.
If he weren’t so damn hungry, he’d forgo the food and have her first.
“Please sit down.” Clutching her hands at her waist, she stared everywhere but at him. “We should eat before it gets cold.”
Jack marveled that she invited him to join her as though she was a proper lady holding tea in her drawing room.
“Mrs. Long does all the cooking and her meat pie is unrivaled,” Jack commented. “Which is the second reason I enjoy staying here.” He sent her a meaningful grin.
“It smells delicious,” she agreed. “Had I waited a single minute more, I might have dug into the food on my own.”
She sat across from him and smoothed a napkin on her lap, her spine stiff and straight.
A growling rumbled from the vicinity of her belly but rather than acknowledge it, Jack asked, “You would have eaten without me?”
Flushing an even deeper pink, she met his gaze. “Not really. That wouldn’t have been very considerate of me, now would it? Especially—” she gestured at the room. “After the kindness you’ve shown me. Have I thanked you?”
“If you haven’t yet, you will.” Jack liked watching her blush.
She couldn’t have been any more different from Lizzie.
Where Lizzie had been slim and tall, with curling red hair and painted lips, Miss Somerset was curvy, petite, and… wholesome-looking.
But it was more than that.