Master of Sin by Maggie Robinson Read Free Book Online

her—Herr Birnbaum had not given her mother much in the way of trinkets over the five years that they were married. Francesca Bassano Birnbaum sometimes lamented this fact in the letters she sent to Gemma at school. Gemma wondered exactly how happy her warm-hearted Italian mother had been with her strict Viennese husband, but at least she was financially secure and Gemma’s school tuition paid for.
    â€œTo grow old alone, bambina— that is not for me,” her mother had said to her time and time again. Worried about losing her looks and her hold on men, Francesca had decided to leave mistressing behind and look for matrimony. She had snared Herr Birnbaum but wasn’t able to grow old with him after all.
    Even if she never got her belongings back, Gemma heard her mother’s musical voice in her head and felt her presence in her heart. Francesca had done her best to raise her, although her methods would be considered unorthodox by most standards.
    Which is how Gemma wound up shivering at the ends of the earth, torn between committed loneliness and unwelcome desire for a man who could tempt her from her best intentions. Gemma needed this job, but she didn’t need the complication of Andrew Ross. But perhaps given time, she could manage him as she did his son. She wouldn’t quit quite yet.
    She burrowed under the thin quilts, wondering if she would ever feel warm again. Her mother had often spoken of the warm Italian sun, but they had never, in all their travels together, returned to her home country. Gemma wondered if her mother was ashamed of what she had become—an astronomically priced courtesan sought after by any man with sense and sufficient coin.
    Gemma had been born in chilly, gray London, in a rather mean dwelling grudgingly paid for by her mother’s longtime benefactor, the Earl of Barrowdown. The earl had lost all interest in his increasing mistress, but he did his duty to his daughter. Just. Gemma’s mother had received a small allowance until her figure returned and her fatigue left her. Then, Francesca Bassano clawed her way back on top and left the earl to history.
    Gemma had never felt relegated to the shadows, however. Her mother included her often in her amusements, taught her manners, introduced her to art and music. Languages, too, for love was made in many of them. Gemma had been an accomplished young lady until her first mistake cost her her mother’s company.
    Her second mistake was much worse.
    Her third mistake was absolutely necessary.
    A young woman alone had few avenues open for employment. A young woman wanted for theft had even fewer choices. Perhaps it was just as well she was freezing to death on this inhospitable rock, far from the gaiety of Vienna and the greed of her stepbrother. She had only taken what she was entitled to, and Franz would never find her here. He would in any case be looking for Gemma Bassano, not Gemma Peartree.
    Perhaps she should have changed her first name, too. But she could hear her mother whisper it against her temple, almost feel her silken arms around her. Gemma closed her eyes, imagining the scent of lemon verbena.
    She had vials of her mother’s signature scent in her missing trunk. Right now she’d trade every vial and silk dress for a set of flannel underwear. She could hear her mother cluck and chide her now. No self-respecting woman would ever disguise her charms beneath such practical garments. As Gemma had few charms to disguise, she was all for practicality at the moment. Warmth was at a premium, and if what she wore extinguished the devilish light in Andrew Ross’s eyes, all the better.
    She sat up at the sound of the trap rolling on the crushed shell drive. At last! Merciful heavens, to wear clean clothes again was enough to make her weep for joy. Yes, that’s why tears were streaking down her face. Gemma brushed them away and waited for Mrs. MacLaren to climb the stairs to her. She wasn’t