Gareth: Lord of Rakes by Grace Burrowes Read Free Book Online

having her spoil… him.
    “You’re not answering me, Gareth, and you have that calculating look in your eye that means something bad for somebody.”
    He had come to delight in her scolds, but the woman was too perceptive by half. He got up from his armchair and stoked the fire burning in the huge fireplace before which they both sat.
    “To answer your question, you don’t have to spoil the customers to the extent Callista did. You may change whatever aspect of the business you wish, because you’re right: the important service is the one provided by the women. The rest is mere presentation. You should bear in mind, however, prostitution is a competitive business. If all a man wants is a quick rogering, he can shove any streetwalker up against the nearest wall and be on his way in five minutes. The streetwalker keeps all the proceeds, and the same service is provided.”
    Felicity regarded him narrowly. “You use crude language to shock me. Get on with your point.”
    “My bloody point”—he jabbed again at the fire, and if she was shocked, she hid it well—“is that your establishment must remain competitive. Callista left you a thriving business, but it has little in the way of reserves. If a rumor were to get out you’re watering the drinks, your tables are crooked, or your women unclean, for example, then you would be forced to close your doors. The building itself is worth a fair penny, but the cash flow is worth more over the long term. I would advise you to observe the business for some months before you attempt to improve it through drastic changes.”
    He finished speaking but did not return to his chair. Instead, he picked up a white quill pen from his desk and began pacing the room idly, pulling out an occasional book and reshelving it as he wandered. Some distance—or something—was wanted, given the topic.
    “I can understand the supply exceeds the demand, Gareth, but can’t we try a few things to improve profit?” she asked, staring into the fire as he paced behind her.
    He brushed the quill over his lips. “Like what?”
    “Couldn’t we offer cognac in addition to champagne and other wines? It has class, you must admit, but is served in smaller portions. Couldn’t we use a piano soloist instead of a string trio some nights? It’s a beautiful piano, and it sits there idly most evenings, and a little variety couldn’t hurt the ears. And we could also—” She stopped speaking as he came to stand behind her chair, resting his elbows along its back.
    “Go on,” he urged, his mouth near her ear. He brushed the feather over her jaw, any number of games and diversions coming to mind that we might indulge in.
    “What are you doing, lurking back there?” She remained facing forward, because he’d arranged himself so if she turned her head, her mouth would be in quite close quarters with his. She had good instincts, did Miss Worthington.
    “I’m thinking.” Also admiring the curve of her jaw.
    “Is my reprieve over?” she asked in a small, not-so-brave voice.
    “Your reprieve?” When had the scent of lavender ever functioned as an aphrodisiac?
    “You’ve given me weeks to accustom myself to our eventual… intimacy. Have you decided the time has come for things to progress?”
    He leaned along the chair behind her, breathing through his nose and considering his reply. He’d taken things slowly with Felicity, finding himself reluctant to simply romp away her virginity. He didn’t like the position Callista had put him in—a position he’d agreed to—but no options were presenting themselves.
    He brushed the feather over Felicity’s lips and decided he would force the issue, scare Felicity witless, and she’d back off. She was decent to the bone; hence, his strategy was a foolproof way of getting himself excused from a commitment he never should have made.
    “I believe,” he murmured in her ear, “you have the right idea. Some changes are in order at the brothel, but also in