Brighton Belle by Sara Sheridan Read Free Book Online

forward to coming to Brighton but Lisabetta had insisted. The old man hated the sea – it was too powerful. But, he had important business here and although
Lisabetta had proved a competent, if expensive, manager in all his affairs he believed in keeping an eye on everything himself. The last few months in London she had proved reliable, of course, but
now things were coming to fruition.
    Lisabetta understood his need to oversee things. She encouraged him. ‘You must come down to Brighton. I promise you’ll have entertainment. Blue-eyed girls with long legs, a trip to
the races and a few games of poker. It’s not too bad for the provinces.’
    And she had been as good as her word. Naturally the old man had a wife and children but he had always frequented prostitutes. One woman was never enough and, besides, his wife was now abroad and
he hadn’t seen her in over three months. Henrietta was older, as old as he was. He liked possessing her – some men were squeamish about grey hair and sagging skin, but that didn’t
matter to him. He loved his wife. Still, it was nice to have a younger woman now and then, if only as a contrast. It made him feel alive. This Delia girl was good – very professional and also
beautiful. Even the higher-class prostitutes varied, he found, but he could already tell that he was going to really enjoy himself today. Perhaps he’d order her to stay on a while. He would
be in Brighton for ten days, after all – and from what he could see it was a tiny backwater of a town whatever Lisabetta had promised. He might as well make the best of it.
    Delia appeared in the doorway of the bathroom wearing her peach satin underclothes, sheer stockings and a pair of very high black heels. Her glossy dark hair cascaded over her shoulders. She
leaned against the doorframe and posed with one leg against the wood.
    ‘Come here,’ he told her.
    She laughed. ‘My, aren’t you bossy!’
    That was the least of it, she knew, but she thought she’d stand up to the old man. Give him a thrill.
    ‘You will come here,’ he insisted.
    Delia sashayed into the room. She was naturally slight, her curves undulating smoothly and her long elegant legs were firm with two tiny moles at her ankle only just visible through the sheer
silk. She knelt down in front of him.
    ‘What?’ she said with a petted lip as she looked up.
    He pulled her towards him by her shoulders and ran his thick fingers over the creamy skin of her stomach, her breasts, her hips and finally between her thighs. Her skin was as soft as her satin
underclothes and when he fondled her, she sighed. She was very convincing. ‘I will wash you, you beautiful little whore,’ the old man directed.
    ‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed and let him pull her towards the bathroom from which there now emanated a steamy cloud of bergamot scent.
    After they had bathed together, the sex was dull. It was only to be expected. Delia normally enjoyed sex, she pondered, as he flung her onto the bed. She found she particularly liked having sex
with Americans. There were plenty of Americans in London – she had found them to be generous, rich and well informed. Perhaps one day, she thought, she might emigrate to America. Yes,
that’s what she’d do – she’d live in New York. It would be a fresh start – a splendid idea to put all this behind her and begin a new life. It wouldn’t be long
now. She moaned encouragingly as the old man turned her over. Lord, old men liked turning her over. At least this would put him into a deep sleep. The Grand Hotel had very nice sheets, she thought.
Lovely creamy thick linen.
    At last the old man flung himself down on the pillows, mumbling something in another language. Delia spoke most Northern European languages. As well as English she was fluent in Polish, Danish,
Dutch, German and Austrian. She even had some patchy French. She had had an open ear at a very young age and at just the right time had come into contact with a wide