Page 38 of Knight of Destiny

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“May I help you, miss?” he asked.

“I’m looking for Mr. Beadle,” Louisa replied. “Can you tell him that Miss Louisa Dunston wishes to speak to him?”

The man shook his head. “I’m afraid my uncle is quite busy at the moment. He’s making alterations and has asked not to be disturbed.” He eyed her up and down appreciatively. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Your uncle?”

“Yes. I’m Jeffery Venter, his nephew. He and my mother are brother and sister.” His smile broadened. “I’d love nothing more than to be of assistance if I can.”

Louisa nibbled her lip. Perhaps his clear attraction to her could be used to her advantage. After all, what good was it to be as attractive as she was and not be able to put it to good use?

She batted her eyelashes and gave him a tiny smile. “You just may be able to help me, Mr. Venter.” He beamed at her, and she had to push back her jubilation. “You see, the Chatsworth theater is in dire need of our help.”

For several minutes, she went on to explain the situation, emphasizing more than once what a tragedy to the village it would be if the theater were forced to close its doors.

Placing a hand on his arm, she smiled up at him. “Will you be able to help me?”

Mr. Venter drew in a staggered breath. “Why, yes, of course. I would love to make a donation, Miss Dunston, I truly would, but you see”—he leaned in close and lowered his voice to a whisper—“my uncle is a miser. He wouldn’t be very pleased with me if he knew I gave funds to something that had nothing to do with helping him make more money.”

A curtain behind the small counter fluttered, and Mr. Beadle entered from a backroom. Louisa sighed. All this work for nothing!

“Well, thank you for listening to my plight, Mr. Venter. I suppose I can find someone else willing to help.”

Mr. Venter touched her arm. “Wait. There is an alley behind the shop. Meet me there in five minutes, and I’ll see you have a donation.”

Louisa glanced at the tailor. “Are you sure you’ll be able to get away?”

“Most definitely.”

Louisa exited the shop. Ruth had still not returned, so she lowered her head and hurried to the small walkway that connected High Street to the alley behind the shops. It was a dark, foreboding place, consisting of a cobbled path in much need of a good sweep—if not a good wash—that ran parallel to the main street and ended in a field at the edge of the village.

As she drew near the back entrance to the tailor’s shop—or she hoped it was that shop for there was no signage on this side—Louisa glanced over her shoulder. It was rather quiet here. Too quiet. The tall buildings that flanked the alley muted the sounds of traffic and created deep shadows that made it look like dusk.

What was she doing meeting a man alone in such a place? Good cause or not, a lady did not put herself in such a predicament.

“Miss Louisa!” Mr. Venter called. He stood not ten paces from her, making her start. Did he have to shout?

She glanced behind her again. Perhaps she should make excuses and leave. Running.

“I have five pounds for you.”

Five pounds? Not one person had offered her five pounds! The most she received thus far from any one person had been one pound from Mr. Pollard, the jeweler. And that had been a struggle.

Unable to believe her newfound luck, she hurried to Mr. Venter to find a smile that matched hers.

“Thank you so much, sir,” she said, extending a hand. “Your generosity is appreciated far more than you can imagine.”

She reached for the money, but he refused to release it. When she looked up at him again, her blood ran cold. His once-warm smile was now icy, and his eyes were flames. “I’m a very generous man, Miss Dunston,” he said in an oily tone that sent unpleasant shivers down her spine. “But my money does not come easily. I require a kiss in exchange.”

Oh, why could she not be like Ruth and simply punch this man? Yet even the threat of doing so stuck in her throat as he lifted her gloved hand to his lips.

“Now, what do you say? A kiss?”

Indignation filled her. How dare he take such liberties! “You may keep your money, Mr. Venter.” She pulled her hand, but he did not release it. “Release me this instant. My friend will be waiting for me.”

“Surely one kiss will not hurt?” he said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You were obviously flirting with me, Miss Dunston. You cannot tell me you’re not experienced with the act of kissing.”

Her anger flared. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “Let go of me!”


Tags: Jennifer Monroe Historical