maiden-lane

Temperance Dews stood with quiet confidence, a respectable women who lived in the sewer that was St. Giles. Her eyes had widened at the sight of Lazarus, but she made no move to flee. Indeed, finding a strange man in her pathetic sitting room seemed not to frighten her at all.Interesting.__ am Lazarus Huntington, Lord Caire,_ he said.__ know. What are you doing here?__e tilted his head, studying her. She knew him, yet did not recoil in horror? Yes, she__ do quite well. ____e come to make a proposition to you, Mrs. Dews.__till no sign of fear, though she eyed the doorway. __ou__e chosen the wrong woman, my lord. The night is late. Please leave my house.__o fear and no deference to his rank. An interesting woman indeed.__y proposition is not, er, illicit in nature,_ he drawled. __n fact, it__ quite respectable. Or nearly so.__he sighed, looked down at her tray, and then back up at him. __ould you like a cup of tea?__e almost smiled. Tea? When had he last been offered something so very prosaic by a woman? He couldn__ remember.But he replied gravely enough. __hank you, no.__he nodded. __hen if you don__ mind?__e waved a hand to indicate permission.She set the tea tray on the wretched little table and sat on the padded footstool to pour herself a cup. He watched her. She was a monochromatic study. Her dress, bodice, hose, and shoes were all flat black. A fichu tucked in at her severe neckline, an apron, and cap__o lace or ruffles__ere all white. No color marred her aspect, making the lush red of her full lips all the more startling. She wore the clothes of a nun, yet had the mouth of a sybarite.The contrast was fascinating__nd arousing.__ou__e a Puritan?_ he asked.Her beautiful mouth compressed. __o.