Will was taking her to the High-Low Club. I thought I’d dress up a bit for this place, that’s all. I’m sorry I’m not smarter.ĭon’t be silly, you look very nice. He glanced at her as the taxi-cab took them through Piccadilly, bright and garish with the electric lights of advertisements blurred by the drizzle on the windows. Plus, if she showed that much leg on public transport, there might be a brawl. He cleared his throat and said, We’ll get a taxi-cab. You’ll catch flies, Maisie told him with some satisfaction. She was painted and lipsticked to the manner born, and looked like the brightest possible Young Person. Rather than a hat, she wore a wide silver headband with crimson silk rosebuds over her black marcelled waves even her heeled shoes were silver. As if that wasn’t enough flesh, it was also cut low at the front, and Maisie had a lot of front. It was silver with crimson fringes that shimmered over her at the tiniest movement, the colour contrast dramatic against her warm brown skin, and short enough to reveal most of a pair of plump and shapely calves. Her landlady, a woman artist who smelled of oil paint, let him in with an admiring look up and down and called out, Your young man, Miss Jones! He took the omnibus to Maisie’s lodgings.

He was solvent, healthy, and going out with his best friend as a thank-you for her unflagging support in some of the hardest times of his life, and all that made him a damned lucky man. It would be nice to be the evening-dress type, rich and sophisticated, of course, just as it would be nice if he knew any girls who had ideas for the evening beyond dancing, but you couldn’t have everything. He wasn’t one of those, a fact that had been made abundantly clear to him, but still smart enough to take a fashion-conscious girl to a night-club. Freshly shaved, with his unruly hair combed back ruthlessly and a few months of plentiful food and heavy lifting under his belt, he was in respectable shape, and his nearly-new jacket and well-polished shoes made him feel positively smart. He’d celebrated his new wealth with a spending spree of sorts, and the results were pleasing. With the legal machinery of probate finally ground through, he was the official owner of his deceased uncle’s savings as well as his antiquarian and second-hand bookshop. Will Darling was going dancing, and he felt pretty good about it. A full list of content warnings is available at my website.įor Mum, with thanks for the emergency book surgery! Chapter One

This book has references to miscarriage and self-harm.

The Sugared Game by K.J. Charles