Page 2 of In a Rake’s Embrace (Sins & Sensibilities #3)

CHAPTER 2

T he journey from the small seaside town of Cringleford to London lasted several hours, the carriage bumping along the uneven roads. The man beside her had attempted to engage her in conversation, but Agatha kept her eyes firmly on the passing scenery, her face an indifferent mask as she stared out the window.

Now, she sat in the grand drawing room on the second floor of Aphrodite , a pleasure palace. The sheer opulence of the place was beyond anything her imagination had conjured. She had expected something gaudy and tasteless, but the reality was far more stunning—and unsettling. The four-story building radiated decadence. From the moment she stepped inside, her breath had been snatched away. The walls were draped with sumptuous tapestries, the ceilings painted with scenes depicting conquests and wild revelry.

The atmosphere hummed with life, unlike any country dance she had ever attended. On the ground floor, men in the finest fashion mingled with women dressed in exquisite gowns, their hair styled into elaborate coifs. The candlelight from the grand chandeliers above cast a golden glow over their forms. Couples danced to an orchestra’s tune, but there was something different—scandalous—about how the women leaned into their partners, how closely they moved together.

It had an air of elegance but felt undeniably ... forbidden.

Now, she waited in a smaller drawing room on the second floor, which, while still elegant, was furnished more simply. Velvet chairs and a fainting couch sat beneath a large, gilded mirror, reflecting the firelight that danced in the hearth. She fidgeted slightly; her hands clenched in her lap as dread pooled in her chest.

The door opened, and a woman entered with a confident sway. She appeared to be around forty years old, her face touched only lightly by time, with a few delicate lines around her eyes. Her dark blonde hair was piled high in an intricate style, adorned with jewels, and her gown—deep burgundy and scandalously low-cut—clung to her voluptuous frame, barely covering her ample bosom.

“By God, Albert, you were right. She’s a prize,” the woman said, her voice smooth as silk.

Her sharp gaze swept over Agatha as if she were appraising livestock.

Agatha stood and lifted her chin, determined not to show her fear. “I am Miss Woodville. Are you the person in charge here?”

The woman’s lips curled into a slow smile, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “I am Madam Rebecca,” she said, her voice dripping with authority. “Smile, let me see your teeth.”

Agatha complied reluctantly, her jaw tight.

“Very good,” Madam Rebecca said, nodding approvingly. “Do you understand what is required of you?”

Agatha’s stomach clenched, but she refused to falter. “No.”

“You’re in Aphrodite , a pleasure palace,” the madam said, her tone businesslike and condescending. “We cater to the refined tastes of high-society gentlemen. Whatever desires they have can be fulfilled within these walls.”

“So ... a brothel,” Agatha replied tightly, the word tasting like ash on her tongue.

“A brothel?” Madam Rebecca scoffed, raising an imperious brow. “That suggests a common house for lowborn women. I assure you, I am anything but common.”

Agatha had no reply. The sickening dread coiled tighter around her chest. This was the place her father had intended to send her sister.

“Your father owes my business partner a significant sum that must be paid tonight,” the madam continued, her voice cold and clipped. “I tried to negotiate an extension after I learned Mr. Woodville sent his daughter to repay the debt, but Mr. Wright refuses to delay further. It has already been extended three times, and his compassion will set a bad precedent. Do you understand what that means?”

Agatha’s throat tightened. “No. I have some money ... Could I speak to Mr. Wright to propose another arrangement? One that ... doesn’t involve me selling myself?”

The words felt scraped from somewhere deep inside her.

Madam Rebecca’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh? And how much money do you have?”

“I have sixty pounds,” Agatha said, desperation creeping into her voice, “and I can—”

“Two hundred pounds,” the madam interrupted.

The room seemed to tilt, and Agatha gripped the arm of the chair to steady herself. “ Two hundred pounds? But the man who came to our home said the debt was eighty pounds.”

Madam Rebecca’s expression didn’t waver. “Interest,” she said. “One hundred and twenty pounds in interest.”

Agatha’s blood boiled with helpless fury. “Your business partner is a thief! How can the debt have more than doubled in such a short time?”

“I have nothing to do with the terms of the loan,” the madam said coolly. “That’s Mr. Wright’s concern. But I assure you, the full amount must be paid tonight, or your father will not live to see morning.”

Agatha felt as though the walls were closing in around her.

“Many of the ladies here prove their worth quickly,” Madam Rebecca added. “Please the right man and one might even take you as his mistress. It’s what many aim for. A life of comfort.”

“No,” Agatha whispered.

The madam’s eyes flashed with impatience. “Then Mr. Wright will be free to handle your father however he sees fit.”

Would the gambling den owner truly have her father killed? Surely ... surely, such a world of ruthlessness did not exist?

“One night,” Agatha gasped, recalling the man’s words from earlier. “He said I could earn it in one night. He said, given my beauty, it was possible.”

Madam Rebecca considered her for a long moment before responding. “Wait here. I’ll see what can be done.”

Agatha sank back into the chaise, her fingers gripping the fabric so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She fought to keep the panic at bay, closing her eyes and picturing the seaside from her childhood—the sound of the waves, the feel of the cool breeze—anything to take her mind away from this nightmare.

The door creaked open, and she stood quickly.

“You’re in luck,” Madam Rebecca said with a slight smile. “One of our more discerning and distinguished clients is here tonight. He’s tired and seeking something new. If you please him, you’ll see only him this evening.”

Relief flooded Agatha’s chest. One man. It was still abhorrent but far easier to endure than being passed from one to another.

The madam handed her a simple white gown made of fine silk that felt rich against her skin. Thankfully, it wasn’t overly revealing. Agatha quickly removed her worn boots and clothes, folding them neatly to the side. Madam Rebecca gathered them up and tossed them out the door without saying what she did with her clothes.

“Come with me,” the madam instructed.

Agatha took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and followed. She had no choice now but to step forward into this terrifying world, her heart heavy with hopelessness.

One year later …

Agatha sat at the worn kitchen table, her head bowed as she stared at the small ledger. The numbers swam before her eyes, and a tight knot of worry coiled in her stomach. The money she had carefully budgeted over the past year was dwindling, and with the unexpected rent increase, the future looked bleak.

“How bad is it?” Gloria asked from across the table, her voice quiet but filled with concern. “I have never seen you look so down, Aga.”

She took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over her tired eyes before responding. “With the rent increase ... we’ll only have a few coins left for food to last for a month, perhaps six weeks if we practice strict economy. There is not enough for firewood or new bedding for the winter. Sarah also needs new boots.”

The summer was already cold in the nights, and she could not imagine how they would fear for the upcoming winter.

“The larder is almost empty. We can buy a sack of potatoes, flour, and rice. Mrs. Pottinger says we can take more oranges and apples from her grove. There are not enough coins for meat, and we cannot risk taking quail from the squire’s land again. The risk of being charged for poaching is too great.”

Gloria sighed, her hands resting in her lap as she stared at the empty fireplace. “That’s ... not good, is it?”

“No,” Agatha said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her heart kicked painfully against her ribs.

It is terrifying .

A sudden shriek of laughter broke the tense silence. Agatha glanced out the small window, her gaze softening as she watched her younger siblings playing outside. Sarah and Maggie were running through the field, chasing after a kite, with little Carson trailing behind them, his face glowing with joy.

A small smile tugged at her lips. Despite their laughter, the weight of responsibility pressed heavily on her shoulders.

They’re happy now, but how long can I keep this up?

The past year had been a difficult one. They had arrived in Devonshire with little more than hope due to the monies she had saved. Agatha had worked tirelessly to provide for her siblings. She had taken up sewing work as she had done back in their small seaside town, repairing and making garments for the local villagers. Gloria and Maggie helped, too, but it was never enough with six mouths to feed and rent to pay. Carson suffered a recent bout of illness, and the physician’s fee had been exorbitant.

Agatha had been careful, budgeting every penny, ensuring they had enough to survive. But with winter approaching, their situation was becoming more precarious. They had moved to a small cottage on the outskirts of the village, nestled against the moors. It was humble, but it had been their sanctuary for the past year. The idea of losing it, of being forced to uproot her family once again, filled her with dread.

Gloria reached across the table, gently covering Agatha’s hand with hers. “We’ll manage, somehow. We always do.”

Agatha nodded, though doubt gnawed at her. She had vowed to protect her siblings; to keep them safe from the horrors their father had nearly subjected them to, but now she wasn’t sure if she could continue to provide for them. While her sewing and perfumed sachets brought in some income, it was never enough to cover the growing costs.

I can’t fail them. I won’t.

Her thoughts drifted to the night she was taken to Aphrodite. The gentleman Madam Rebecca had taken her to that fateful night was a duke. Agatha only learned of his identity when the coachman, at his command, escorted her back home. The duke had paid the madam in full, settling the debt her father owed, but in a surprising twist, he’d informed Agatha that he did not need her services.

Relief had washed over her so powerfully that tears had slipped down her cheeks. She had expected the worst that night, steeling herself for what she thought would be a soul-crushing experience, only to find unexpected kindness in a man who owed her nothing. The tears of relief had continued to fall during the long journey back home. She hadn’t seen the duke since that night and did not expect ever to encounter him again. Sometimes, when she lay awake at night, she thought of him. Why had he helped her leave? Why had he paid her father’s debt and sent her away without asking for anything in return? Why had he given her banknotes?

She didn’t even know his name. But she owed him more than she could ever repay.

It had been a night of immense relief and the beginning of her new life. She had expected her father to be at home, wallowing in shame over what he had forced his daughter to endure. But instead, he had been snarling and angry. The following morning, he had left, returning to the gambling halls of London, where he would often disappear for weeks at a time. Her father had also pilfered the banknotes the duke had given her. Agatha had sobbed until her throat felt raw. Thankfully, he had not discovered the other monies she saved.

Disgust, horror, and betrayal had settled in her chest, heavier than the relief she had felt. Her father hadn’t learned his lesson. The danger was far from over. That morning, as she looked at her younger siblings, blissfully unaware of what had almost happened, Agatha realized she couldn’t allow them to remain under his control. If their father could easily offer Maggie to settle his debts, what would stop him from repeating the same?

Agatha had taken control, determined to forge a better future for herself and her siblings. The decision had been made swiftly. They had packed their few belongings—just enough to fit into a small cart and escaped. Agatha left her father a note explaining that she had taken her siblings away for their safety. She wrote only so he wouldn’t worry—though she doubted he would care enough to feel concerned.

She didn’t tell him where they were going. He didn’t deserve to know. With quiet resolve, she led her family far from the small seaside town they had known, all the way to Devonshire, where no one knew their names and no debts or danger loomed over them.

Gloria had brought her younger brother Henry to live with them out of fear for his well-being under the care of their eldest brother, a butcher. At just fourteen years old, Henry had been working grueling twelve-hour days for only a few shillings a month. Over time, Agatha came to love him as if he were her brother. His presence alone, often seen from a distance, discouraged trouble from finding them. Even their landlord seemed to believe it was Henry with whom he had the rental agreement.

But as the months passed, the struggle to survive became more difficult. She had always known it wouldn’t be easy, but the weight of that knowledge felt heavier with each passing day.

“What are you thinking about?” Gloria asked gently.

“That night in London and the duke who helped me,” Agatha said with a self-deprecating smile. “He said something to me, and I did not believe him, but it has proven true.”

When he had offered her money, her fierce pride had pushed her to ask for a job instead.

“ Too beautiful ,” he had snapped. “ You would toss my household into disorder and have my footmen turn into competing fools .”

“ I see. Perhaps a recommendation to be a governess —”

“ The master of the home you work in will have you on your back within days. Unless you choose to hide your figure as best possible, disfigure your face, or find a kind widow who has no preying sons .”

“ I would never consent to an affair! ”

“ He would not care if you were willing. You have no power or connection .”

Gloria shifted restlessly. “What did he say?”

“The duke warned me how difficult it would be to work for others,” Agatha said softly, shaking her head. “He made it seem like my beauty was a curse . He said if I worked in anyone’s household, I’d cause an uproar. I was a housekeeper for Squire Portman for just a week, and he was determined to make me his lover despite his wife being heavy with child. And look at what happened at the baker’s shop—three workers, men I gave no attention to, fought over me. It’s nonsensical. It’s as if they’ve decided I have no say in the matter. Mrs. Bramley ordered several gowns from you, but when I delivered them, she was so furious that her husband ogled me that she refused to pay. It is most absurd, but it is very much real.”

Gloria frowned deeply. “Why are you thinking about this now?”

Agatha hesitated, her gaze drifting down to the ledger, showing the harsh reality of their future. “The duke ... said my beauty is power if I knew how to use it.”

Her stepmother inhaled sharply, her eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“ Beauty is a power. A man would willingly pay two hundred pounds to spend a night with you ,” the duke had told her. “ Entice and allure. Craft a reputation as a woman who is both unattainable and unavailable. Tease and tempt, and let men be willing to pay just to behold your beauty ... to hear you play the pianoforte. Declare to the world that you are a virgin, and they will clamor at your door for the mere chance to be the one to seduce you .”

Taking a steadying breath, Agatha met Gloria’s gaze. “I’m going to London.”

Her stepmother stiffened, her lips parting as if to protest, but no objection came.

“Wait for my letters,” Agatha continued, her voice firm yet gentle. “I will send them frequently, along with money.”

“What will you do?”

“I should not tell you about it,” she said gently. “I will not do anything dangerous.”

“How can you be so certain you’ll make any money? This is too risky and reckless—”

“Am I beautiful, Gloria?”

Gloria blinked, then nodded slowly. “I have never seen anyone to equal you.”

Agatha swallowed tightly. “Do ... do men covet beautiful things?”

“Yes,” Gloria whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve had a year to realize what I’ve been doing isn’t enough. We have no connections, no one to turn to. We can only rely on ourselves. I can only rely on what I have.” Agatha’s voice grew stronger, more resolved. “Fortunately, my mother spent countless hours educating me so I could read, do arithmetic and even speak French. I know there is much more I need to learn. And I must go to London. We’ll tell the girls I’m going for a respectable position in town, and everything will be fine.”

Tears glistened in Gloria’s eyes, and she reached out to clasp Agatha’s hand. “I’ll take care of everyone, Aga. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

“I know,” Agatha said softly, squeezing her hand in return. “I know.”

Gloria never hesitated to leave their father behind. She had taken on much of the housework and cooking, filling the role their family needed. Together, they shared a silent understanding. Agatha would take this risk, not for herself but for all of them.