The Seeking Series Box Set: Historical and Christian Romance

The Seeking Series: Regency Romance (excerpt)

The Bankside, London, 1544

A pale, midafternoon sun peeked through the ripped draperies of Hollands Leaguer, the most notorious brothel in all of England. Sitting in a downstairs study, Catherine Sudfield sipped her cup of blackberry wine and then swore in fluent French at the ledgers strewn across her desk.

Like the whore she'd become, she'd shed the respectability of her former life as the proper Mistress Catherine, eldest daughter of an earl.

Drinking and swearing were the least of her concerns.

She took another swig of wine and set down her cup. As she studied the ledgers, she willed the numbers to change. Normally the brothel turned a nightly profit, yet for the third consecutive day, earnings were suspiciously low.

The owner of the brothel, Sir Thomas Windchoice, was in nearby Dartford for the week, tending to his various corrupt businesses. When he returned and learned of the income deficit, he would freely dispense accusations, blame, and ... beatings.

To the women who worked at the brothel, of course. Never for the thieves who prowled the Bankside like scavengers, or the rich men who used and abused the whores for their pleasure.

Luckily, and she used the term loosely, she wasn't expected to amuse the long line of gentlemen who paid so exorbitantly for the prostitutes' favors.

Catherine's favors were for Sir Thomas's exclusive use.

She was fortunate. She had only one man to please.

One vile, despicable, merciless man.

The thought of Sir Thomas's sugar-coated mouth and sticky hands brought the usual shudder down her spine.

She shook it off.

With a spine-stiffening sigh, she picked up her feather quill and pulled her mind back to the uncooperative ledgers. She was a hardened woman after all, with an innate business sense and a determination to survive.

Interrupted by a man's low, insistent voice at the front entry, she peered through the doorway of her study. Bess, the brothel's elderly madam, unsuccessfully tried to deter a tall dark-haired man from making his way down the hallway.

"Sir, we are closed until eventide," Bess shouted, relying heavily on her cane as she hobbled after him. "The women are resting. If you wish to while away your afternoon hours until we reopen, enjoy a pot of ale at the Bear Gardens down the lane."

"Either you are deaf," came the terse reply, "or you refuse to listen. I abhor drunks and never liked bears. I am here to see a woman I have not seen in several years."

Dear heavens.

Catherine's entire body stiffened as she recognized the male voice.

Stefan Boswell. Her long-ago confidant. Her long-ago friend. Her long-ago love.

Surely, he couldn't have found her after all this time.

That same man, unannounced and certainly uninvited, was walking down the hall directly toward her study.

The feather quill fell from her hand. Her gasp, well past surprised, tightened her stomach. She pushed at the pins securing her wimple and stood, slowly, like a woman far older than her two and twenty years.

She smoothed her red satin gown, turned back the frayed white fur on the sleeves, and stood erect, trying to make her small frame seem taller. What did he want with her? She wouldn't give him the benefit of a direct confrontation. Should she wait for him to speak first?