Whilst His Grace and Miss Wells are schooling Mr Lewis in the manners of a man of vast fortune-chiefly, it seems, by teaching him to discard every shred of decency he possesses- I set about creating, at number twelve, Astley Square, a residence fit for such a man.Īt Mrs Coates' suggestion, I select Sophie Randle, the oldest and most capable of the House Maids, and, revealing-despite Miss Wells's protests, but with His Grace's permission-a small part of our plan, I take her to Astley Square, to help me decide what must be done. “And poor Roderick’s indignation will be your visiting card, Lewis thanks to him, in less than a sennight, every man and woman in London will know of you and your worth every man will be eager to cheat you at cards, and every woman to seduce you-for herself, or for one of her daughters!” “I am sure he shall be,” His Grace replies, with a mischievous smile. “Might not Sir Roderick be alarmed by such generosity towards another, Your Grace?” asks Mr Lewis. “It will make,” says His Grace, “the perfect headquarters for an assault upon The Spartans-and what could be more natural,” he adds, “than for a godfather to place his house at the disposal of a long-lost godson?” His Grace’s estate, it seems, includes a large town house in Astley Square.

“ Now,” she adds, briskly, “we have lots of work to do, so I shall leave you, and I’ll see you and Mr Lewis at breakfast.”įollowing breakfast, we draw up our plans. “If you wish to share it,” I say-though she has already given me much to think about-and, when she leans in, and kisses my mouth, in that insistent way she has, which seems to reach right down into my vitals, I am most surprised. Desire does not have to be a sin, Mr Haxby. “ I think,” she says, more gently now, “that, with me, you’re learning to live with your own desires. “You did!” she cries and, laughing merrily once more, she looks into my eyes… I do not answer, for I am finding the dissection of my shortcomings uncomfortable Miss Wells, however, takes my silence for confirmation. “Did you have a favourite harlot, in this sinful past of yours?” “I don’t believe you’d ever bully a woman just because she's a woman.” “And you can get her arrested with a false accusation”-she presses a finger to my lips when I would protest-“but, when you’re not fucking her, you treat a woman little different from a man, so. “You can wither a woman’s heart with a few words. “Were you a cull…? Well, you do like to be on top, and you do like to go at it hard-but I put that down to a youth spent snatching quick fucks in alleyways and stairwells- you”-she pinches my cheek-“picked up some very bad habits as a youth, Mr Haxby!

“Howard was a snake! And he wasn’t the worst.” I am not, perhaps, the quickest of men, but I do believe I understand her: “You did not enjoy congress with Lord Howard.” Fucking’s work for a harlot-if a harlot seems eager, it’s because she needs the money.” “Never think,” she adds, “that fucking a man who pays for it is the same as fucking a man you’ve chosen. “ If you were the only man I’d ever had,” she says, playing with my hair, “I would know nothing that you had not taught me, Mr Haxby, and our pleasures would be dull indeed.” Her expression grows more serious. She laughs, and I feel her move, and then she is looking down at me. “I try to keep the wish in check,” I admit, “for it does not foster soundness of mind.” “There are times,” I say, sometime later, when we are lying side-by-side, our fingers still entwined, and I find myself-I know not why-inclined to share my thoughts, “when I wish I were the only man you had ever had.”

My pardon, if I am any judge of a woman's pleasure, is quickly earned, and in full.

Harlots haxby