"Hello, what do we have here? Is it my sweet Miss March?"
She didn't let him see her fear, instead carried on doing what she needed to. But she was braced and ready should he touch her.
"Playing coy again, Miss March?"
"No, I am merely a cleaner who is not interested in what you are proposing, Lord Kinsale." Poppy lifted her mop and wielded if before her, and the man backed away.
"With that body, you could make a fortune, my sweet. But I want you for myself, and I will have you, Miss March. Many different ways."
"You know nothing about my body, nor will you ever lay another hand on me, you foul man."
He lunged at her. Taller than her by a few inches, and with considerable body weight, he had her pinned to the wall in seconds. His breath rasped into her ear as he ground his hips into hers.
"I'll have you, Miss March. You've become something of a challenge for me and I love a challenge."
He released her, but not before his hand ran over her breasts.
Poppy was still clasping the mop so she swung it at him. It connected with his arm. He simply smiled and grabbed it, jerking it from her hands to throw it to the ground. He then walked away.
Poppy felt ill, as if something nasty were crawling all over her flesh. Inhaling several times, she got herself under control. Lord Kinsale could not hurt her; she had to believe that.
Making her way to the third floor, she tapped on a door, and then entered when called.
"Hello, Miss March."
"Miss Saffron."
"Clean the floors in my bathing room, please, and then tidy my bedroom and change the sheets."
"At once."
She looked to where Charlie sat to Miss Saffron's left. He gave her a nod and followed it up with a smile of encouragement.
Charlie had grown up in the same village as Poppy. They'd been schooled together and played on the village green. She'd seen him the day Lord Revel had dismissed her, and he had offered to help her if she could not secure work. After the initial shock had worn off that sweet-faced Charlie Mallory was now working in a brothel, she'd acknowledged that a person must do what they must in London to survive. He hadn't hesitated to help her by getting her the cleaning position when she could not secure work herself. Of course, it helped he was also intimate with Miss Saffron, the brothel's owner. Once that would have shocked Poppy to her toes; now it did not. Life in London had opened her eyes to a great many things, and not all of them were good. He had said he would keep an eye on her, and for the most he did, but there were times when she was trapped in a hallway with a man and only her wits to help her escape.
"Are you sure I cannot convince you to work for me in another capacity, Miss March? You really are extraordinarily beautiful, and your body would earn both of us a great deal of money."
Poppy's guess was Miss Saffron was close to forty years of age. Tall and lithe, she was a woman who had confidence in herself. Her clothes may be neat and no different from any lady on the street, and her golden hair always immaculate, but there was something about her that made men look. A sensuality she had never seen in another. Poppy had been downstairs once when Miss Saffron appeared at the top of the stairs, and the men had been drawn to her like bees around a honey pot.
"No indeed, but I thank you for the offer."
Miss Saffron sighed and waved Poppy away. Nodding to her and Charlie, Poppy carried her bucket and mop into the room and started cleaning.
Lord Dangerous slipped back into her head. He'd made her babble. Like Miss Saffron, there was something about him that drew a person in. Power, yes, but there was more. Poppy could imagine him in the ballrooms of society, his dark hair glittering under the chandeliers, wide shoulders encased in an elegantly tailored jacket, legs in evening trousers and large feet in polished shoes. He would have women falling over themselves to attract his attention, she was sure.
"He is helping you, Poppy," she reminded herself as she slapped the mop onto the floor, "and nothing else matters." It was not important that he made her pulse flutter, or her palms tingle, or that she could still feel where his fingers had touched her through the sleeve of her dress. Lady Revel was her only concern now.
Two years, she had worked for her, and in that time they had become friends. She had learned much from the older woman, and relished the days spent with her. They had argued and laughed, and Poppy missed her dreadfully. Something was wrong, but she would see that it was righted if it was the last thing she did-which, if she was honest, it could be. It was very worrying that someone was trying to harm her, but she could not step off the course she had set. Lady Revel needed rescuing, and Poppy would see she was.