Read Improper Gentlemen for Free Online

salvage its ribbons and feathers from their current bedraggled mess so she could leave town without appearing the fool, her headgear must be dried quickly.
    Damn.
    She bit her lip and unpinned the once-fashionable bit of millinery with almost military speed. Her hands were steadier when she untied its bow and handed it to him.
    “My servants will see to it. They’ve restored far more damaged clothing.” He shook the bonnet slightly, as if he could envision its former Parisian flair.
    “May I see your cheek? If it’s badly injured, I can send for a doctor—”
    “No!”
    “Are you sure?”
    Her eyes met his in the drifting golden light. He looked predatory, like a hunting cat. “Who hurt you?”
    “Why are you so eager to find out?” she parried, unsure of the look in his eyes.
    “It would give me the best excuse to destroy the man who did it to you,” he replied calmly.
    Her jaw dropped. For the first time in three years, trust blossomed in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps she might not be alone and helpless any longer.
    “It was Simmons,” she said cautiously.
    “That brute!” She didn’t like Talbot’s smile at all but it was comforting, too, mainly because his fury wasn’t directed at her. “It’ll take a little extra planning but I can dispose of him.”
    “Honestly, I’m just a little bruised.” Suddenly, she didn’t want her unusual protector injured. “I can move my mouth easily and . . .”
    He lifted her chin gently to inspect her cheek under the hanging lantern. His lean, strong fingers were very disturbing, perhaps because she wanted them to linger.
    “Besides, I don’t think you can completely blame Mr. Simmons,” she babbled on. “Johnson shoved me into his room.”
    “The mayor.” Her escort’s dark eyes flickered but his grip stayed protective.
    “He gave me the hotel room beside Simmons. Showed me through the connecting door, which didn’t lock, and . . .” She closed her eyes against the memories.
    “What about the hotel manager?” Talbot’s voice rasped in his throat.
    “Ran away before then.”
    “Damn.” The word was very soft. “I swear to you nothing like that will happen again,” he said strongly. “You’re right about the bruising. I can have a poultice fetched if you need it, but otherwise I suspect you mostly need a hot drink to take away the chill.”
    “What haven’t you seen and done in here?” Charlotte whispered. While she’d spent an eternity in gambling saloons over the past three years, she’d never thought much about concert saloons, their far rarer brethren.
    “I sell pleasure—but nothing illegal. I don’t run a brothel and I’m not a pimp. Adults rent space from me to pursue entertainment of their choosing.” He set her bonnet atop a coat tree. “Mining towns are frequented by hard men.”
    “And dangerous.” As she knew all too well.
    He draped the velvet quilt over her shoulders. “But they can be very profitable, if you’re prepared.”
    In the distance, the singer curtsied once more and ran offstage. The audience rustled and glasses clinked more loudly. “Hurry up with that red-eye,” somebody demanded.
    There was a soft knock and a bartender appeared. Charlotte quickly took her place on the settee, determined to appear an experienced woman of the world no matter what her hammering pulse said.
    Talbot offered her a cup of coffee, laced with cream and speckled with crimson and gold. She sniffed cautiously, then again far more happily. “What is it? It smells delightful.”
    “Coffee with chocolate and spices. It’s a Mexican recipe.” He sat down beside her with his own cup.
    A very tall, cadaverously thin man strutted onto the stage and fingered his lapels.
    “Yeehaw!” somebody yelled down below and a torrent of gunfire erupted into the ceiling.
    Charlotte cringed. She could endure one or two shots, however close, but a fusillade sounded like a massacre.
    “Gentlemen!” Talbot shouted over the railing. “The next