Avarice and Charity (Sins of the Virtuous Book 3)

Chapter 2

Autumn 1871

Jarvisfield, Queensland, Australia

The next morning, Avarice woke in his bed at his father's estate house, his mind a cloud of images from the previous night. Had he dreamed it all? Was the beautiful woman he met at the Black Swan Hotel merely a figment of his imagination?

Feeling a slight ache in his hand, he looked at it. The handkerchief was tied securely around it. Last night hadn't been a dream after all. When he removed the cloth from his hand, he watched the watercress leaves fall onto the mattress beside him, revealing the healed puncture wounds from his encounter in the hotel.

Shaking his head for clarity, he rose from the bed and reached for a shirt. He had been certain he'd dreamed last night and the woman he'd met. His footsteps heavy on the stairs, he walked down to the dining room in search of a much-needed cup of coffee, wondering how he would ever find Charity again. He didn't even know her last name. All he knew was his dreams had been filled with images of her, her soft hands caressing his skin, her lips on his.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he forced himself to control his desires. He meant what he'd said to her last night. He did crave her time above all else. Had even conversed with her more than any other woman he had spent time with. But he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought of what else he craved to share with her.

Charity was unlike any woman he'd ever been involved with. Her beauty was a natural one, her skin not showing obvious signs of the layers of makeup so many others wore. The sound of her slightly husky voice had washed over him as if waves of silken bliss. It was the feel of her lips against his cheek that haunted him the most though. Even now, he could feel her close to him as she kissed him, a behaviour rarely seen from women who weren't tavern wenches.

"Where the hell were you last night?" a booming, heavily accented voice rang out behind him, startling him from his memories.

Turning, Avarice faced his father. "I had business to attend to across the river, remember? You sent me to the Black Swan Hotel to retrieve your money."

The old man walked toward him. "I sent you to retrieve something that should have only taken a few minutes, not several hours."

"There was an accident." Avarice held up his hand to show his wound. "The chap you sent me to see didn't seem very keen on repaying your money. I had to stay there longer than expected so one of the women in the tavern could patch me up."

The old man stopped in his approach, his eyebrow raised. "I bet she did."

Avarice shook his head. "It wasn't like that. She bandaged my hand with some stuff to ward off infection. There was nothing else in it."

His father studied him as if trying to catch him in a lie. "You trying to tell me you went to a bordello and you didn't sleep with any of the puttanas there?"

"Speak English, Father," Avarice begged him. "It is far too early for me to decipher your Italian."

When the old man didn't reply to this, Avarice knew he was annoyed with his casual dismissal of the family's heritage.

"Yes, I went to a whorehouse, and no, I didn't sleep with any of the whores there," Avarice finally replied. Reaching in his trouser pocket, Avarice pulled fourth a wad of rolled-up notes. "I went there for what you asked me to do and nothing else," he said, tossing the money on the table. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am in great need of a coffee."

His father counted the notes. "Coffee can wait. I need you to accompany me into town on more business."

"Father, please. I need a coffee and a wash," Avarice begged.